


Remaking Him

by twistedmiracle



Series: Breaking Him [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, Cruelty, F/M, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 10:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 19
Words: 54,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedmiracle/pseuds/twistedmiracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>COMPLETE! This is a story of brokenness, pain, sadness, manipulation and hope. It contains enslaved prostitution and lots of explicit sex, both heterosexual and homosexual. Fourth in a 4part series, please start with "Breaking Him," and if you read the sections in order they will make more sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this is the 4th part of a 4 part series! Read the first three! It won’t make any damn sense otherwise!
> 
> Second, I am incredibly grateful to Claret24, who stepped up -- seemingly out of nowhere -- offering to beta a fic I had given up hope of finding a beta for. Any remaining mistakes are, of course, my own. She was exactly what I needed, too: firm, comprehensive, and smart! She’d also like to do more beta work! You can find her on gmail, username claret24potter.
> 
> Third, this is intended to complete a series of stories I began writing in 2006. Never say never, and all that, but I don’t expect to add to this series in the future. This should be the true end of the writing.

**Title:** Remaking him.  
 **Author/Artist:** **Pairings:** Primarily Harry/Draco, but also Harry/Pansy, Pansy/various men, Harry/Pansy/Charlie (Weasley), and Pansy/Charlie.  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Warnings:** Prostitution/sexual slavery, abuse of power.  
 **Word count:** around 60,000 words, 19 chapters, completed.  
 **Summary:** Harry has claimed his two favourite prostitutes. Now what?  
 **Disclaimer:** Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.  


 

Chapter 1  
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First had been the party. And the pantomime. Draco was pretty sure he remembered that correctly. He’d been drifting through, following what orders he remembered, when suddenly – there was Potter. Potter! Heat flared in his belly. Heat he had forgotten about because it had been so long since sex had been anything but a job, the path of least resistance, and the only human affection he received.

But he saw that man and his body reacted.

It wasn’t until they were almost done fucking that Draco began to realize something was strange. The fire of lust burned off the fog of confusion, but it didn’t make it very much easier to think clearly. Still, something nagged at him afterwards. Something about it all hadn’t been quite… Harry.

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Then had been a thousand nameless, faceless johns, and Draco would feel the fogs entering him again. Eventually, only a few bare shards of reality pierced an increasingly gray world. Men fucking into his shrinking arse. Almost slack mouth full of leaking, thrusting cocks.

But then, sometimes, just when he was about to pass some fuzzy, insensate point of no return, Harry Potter. (Was it Potter?) Just often enough to remind: he still was, he might come back any day. So Draco had to stay. Just in case… Harry.

When Potter first reappeared, Draco was so dazed he barely knew where he was. All Draco knew was Mr Potter had finally forgiven him. Was finally fucking him, touching him, asking for him. Over time he’d lost much of that heat in his belly. His dick never got more than half hard, even when Harry first entered his arse and began to fuck Draco again. But something about being touched, used, enjoyed, by that man. That particular man… it always beat back the fog. Draco didn’t really know why. But he was always waiting for that call anyway. “Mr. Potter is waiting for you in Tilford’s office.”

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Draco was sitting on the bed in the room he now shared – uncomfortably, brotherly, quietly – with Pansy, when the handler came in, wand out. Draco didn’t know which man. He never looked any higher than a handler’s wand.

“Tilford’s office,” the man said, and Draco stood. His short blond braid slipped off his shoulder to hit his spine. Was it already time for that? The probably faux Harry was so different, but he looked right, and he smelled right, and he was always gentle. On his most lucid days, Draco tried to tell himself it was enough. Other times, Draco could convince himself that Harry had simply changed. On days when cobwebs filled and conquered him, he didn’t have to convince himself of anything.

Pansy walked in, looked into Draco's eyes, frowned and sighed. She reached out, and was about to take or squeeze Draco's hand, but the handler spoke to her next. “You as well, girl. Tilford’s office, now. For both of you. I’ll be packing all your things.”

“What?” Pansy asked without elegance. Draco realized that something very unexpected – for both of them – was about to happen. He hoped it wouldn’t hurt.

“Yeah.” The handler said. Then he looked into the hallway and, smirking, closed the door, shutting himself in with them both. “First the bed, I think. Now, girl. I reckon this is going to be my very last chance to fuck the great Potter’s favourite whore.”

Pansy rolled her eyes but obeyed, hitching up her cotton dress, pulling down and off her sensible cotton pants. She only wore her comfortable clothes when she thought she could get away with it, and a random autumn Tuesday, late-morning, wasn’t exactly a prime time for whore rental, not even for the idle rich. “Why the last chance?” she asked, as they both watched the handler unzip his trousers and pull his hardening cock from his boxers.

“Kiss my dick nice, and I’ll tell you what I know,” the handler said as he walked closer to her face. Pansy opened her mouth for him and as she licked and teased the head of his erection, he explained.

“Was right outside the boss’ office when Mr. Potter Flooed in, so I heard most of it. That’s good, just tease me. Gonna fuck you pretty hard soon, want to come in your cunt.”

Draco shrank into the corner, wanting to become invisible, to hear everything.

“Potter knows bout the Polyjuice Tilford’s been using on your buddy over there in the corner,” the handler looked Draco right in the eye and winked. “He’s real mad, and he’s taking both of you home with him. You won’t be coming back here again. I was lucky enough to be the one sent to fetch you. All of us would have wanted a last fuck from one of you.” He grabbed the base of his cock and watched her. “Yeah, good. I ain’t got a lot of time, so get on your knees and open up that pretty pussy for me.” He watched avidly as she obeyed, then sank into her and groaned. His hands greedily caressed her arse and hips as he fucked her. “Now give me some words so I know how much you like it,” he huffed, and reached forward to grab at her dangling breasts.

As Pansy spouted the bullshit that Johns liked to hear, Draco considered the little he knew. He’d been right about Potter not really visiting him. He’d not been sure, and hoped he’d been wrong. But all was not lost because now he was going to live with his old employer again. Just Pansy, Draco, and Harry Potter.

And Liggy.

The handler came inside Pansy with a soft grunt. He drooped over her back, eyes closed, and took two or three shallow breaths. “Ahh,” he sighed with obvious regret, his large hands still holding firmly onto Pansy’s breasts, and then he stood and pulled out and did up his clothes. His magic had their small bags packed in seconds. The three of them walked together toward Tilford’s office. For the very last time, apparently. Tilford was there, and Draco risked a look at him. He’d never seen that pompous little man look so incredibly… small.

Satisfied that the handler could well have been telling the truth, he straightened his spine, took a deep breath, and looked toward Mr. Potter. First his chest and outstretched wand, then – when he saw that the man was turned well away and almost certainly wouldn’t know – he looked at Potter’s face. Immediately he knew he’d not seen the real Potter in a very long time. Seeing the two men next to one another like this, each in his right form, illustrated striking differences. Potter was alive, vital, young. And angry. Tilford was so calm and old and observant – such a damn Ravenclaw – Draco wondered how the polyjuice could have ever fooled him.

To his shock, he felt himself begin to get an erection, though no one was touching him. Though no one was even looking at him. This, then, appeared to be another difference between a polyjuiced Tilford and Potter. If, indeed, this man was the real Potter. (Draco so desperately hoped, he realized with amazement, that this was the real Harry Potter.) He shifted slightly, moved his bag over the growing bulge at his crotch. He felt his face warm.

No one paid him the slightest bit of attention.

He immediately remembered the real Potter pissing in his face as punishment on their first night together. Then he flashed to Potter throwing him out on that horrific last day. But did this Potter correspond at all with the one in between those two days? Potter had gone gentle and soft with Draco through their months alone in that house. He’d given Draco more and more, only taking it away when Draco tried to love him for it. Was this vital, furious man the real Potter, or was he being tricked again?

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They Flooed to The Hideaway, and it looked real enough. There were still the same two guest suites. Draco was given the nicer one, further from their employer’s bedroom, with a larger window, a fine view of the garden, an ensuite bath, a bed large enough for a couple – if they were cozy – and a closet. He’d never slept in this room during his last stay at the house, but he unpacked his comb and toothbrush and extra pair of underpants and sat in the window awaiting another command.

What choice did he have? It was the man he hoped it was, or it was someone else. Either way, he was still a slave.


	2. Two

Chapter two

In the end, he only felt certain that it was the real Harry Potter because of Liggy. He recognized that house elf.

“You.” She nearly spat. “Again, you to be in ours house.” Draco had turned when the door opened, and he said nothing to the angry elf bristling at him. What would he say? She had a way of looking at one that made even Draco – six foot six tall Draco – feel small. Unwelcome.

Which he was.

The four of them ate their first dinner together only a few hours after he and Pansy arrived at The Hideaway. Draco had waited quietly in ‘his’ new room, but no one asked for him, and after Liggy’s outburst no one else spoke to him; so when Pansy knocked on his open door, he startled slightly. He’d been wallowing in some of his very few good memories – Harry in his arse, Harry’s smile at dinner, Harry offering him rewards and choices and books and time on his computer. And allowing Draco to offer himself, his hands, his energy, his unnamed love and un-discussed affection.... Draco’s face and ears warmed as he looked at Pansy’s face, thinking surely she would guess what he had been doing.

But she only said, “we’re wanted for dinner,” and turned away, expecting him to obey. Silently, he did. Popping to his feet he hurried, braid bouncing at his back, toward the dining room where the Master almost always took his afternoon and evening meals.

He was grateful to see that there were only four chairs, and the other three were already taken, so he sat down across from Pansy and looked at his plate. A large bowl of what looked and smelled like beef and barley soup and a simple but colourful salad awaited. There was a large plate of grainy bread in the center of the square table. It steamed slightly, clearly fresh from the oven. Apparently Potter’s taste in food had not changed.

Draco wondered if he’d be expected to participate in the conversation, and if so, what the hell he could say. But as Pansy began to chatter about how lovely it was to be back at The Hideaway, Potter talked about trips he and Pansy might take, and Liggy piped in with the occasional observation about how happy Master was now and how good it was for Master to have three willing creatures to serve his every possible need, Draco relaxed slowly. The food was simple, fresh and delicious, and he ate the two slices of crusty bread Pansy pushed onto his plate along with every bite of the soup and salad.

He would not have asked, but Potter made a gesture at Liggy after Draco finished, and she served him another bowl of soup, this time adding one of the smallest slices of bread to his plate.

Potter and Pansy took seconds of the soup and bread as well, but Pansy ate only a few bites of hers, jumping up from the table when Potter put down his spoon and stretched.

“Come along, Panse-a-muffin,” Potter growled affectionately. “Time for some telly.”

“And I’z will haves _his_ help for the cleaning?” Liggy piped up from her end of the table.

Draco looked up. This was new.

“Sure, Liggy,” Potter said dismissively. “If you like.” He slipped an arm around Pansy’s shoulder and headed toward his couch and telly. From his seat at the table, his back to the kitchen, Draco was able to watch as Potter’s hand kept moving downwards towards Pansy’s left breast. From the angle, and the movement of the man’s elbow, he’d pulled her tit right out of her low-cut dress and was cupping it in his large hand.

Draco looked at his plate. He wasn’t quite done eating, but… he took a plate in each hand and moved to stand.

“Finishes your food,” Liggy snapped. “I makes good foods for healthy eating. Eats them.”

Draco completed his meal and then cleared the table, spilling some of Pansy’s leftover soup over his chest as he tripped over the small step up into the kitchen.

When the kitchen work was done, Liggy ordered him to strip the soup-spattered shift off and head directly to the gym room. He would be exercising every night, she explained, for ninety minutes. Master and the other whore would be there in the afternoon, and they did not want to share the room or watch as he exercised.

There was an exercise routine with his name on it on the wall. He followed it as best he could but quickly concluded that he was woefully out of shape. Ninety minutes later he undid his now ruined braid, showered and climbed alone into his cold bed. The sheets were very smooth.

He did not remember any of his dreams.

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As the first few days passed, Draco awaited a summons. (For his mouth? For his arse? To give a massage?) But Potter only had eyes – and erections – for Pansy. He barely spoke to Liggy and never spoke to Draco at all. Draco received all his directions -- and nearly all his contact with others -- from Liggy alone.

Pansy barely spoke to him, and if he looked at her over the dinner table, she would smile at him, genuine sadness and regret in her eyes. She wasn’t the one playing the game here, Draco came to realize. She had as little power as he did. It appeared that she’d even been forbidden to speak with him.

Once in a while, when it looked like she could get away with it, she would offer him a tiny scrap of affection.

The day she briefly clasped his hand and squeezed it as she walked behind Potter to their bedroom was a day he treasured. Relief and gratitude overcame his surprise and embarrassment at his own neediness.

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Draco was scraping a dinner dish on the third night when the last of the fogs cleared from his mind and it finally became plain to him: this was how things were now going to be. He had been transformed – in one swift chop of the great Harry Potter’s temper – from a fairly expensive whore, to a stupidly tall house elf with a heavy exercise routine. Liggy had him helping in the kitchen after every dinner and occasionally tidying around the house. She also sometimes pontificated about the virtues of having him weed the garden, though so far that was only talk.

Oddly, he found he didn’t mind this so much. Upon reflection, being a whore in Tilford’s escort service had been pretty damn horrific.

Not long ago, Draco had been able to spend foggy hours every day simply staring blankly at walls until he was called upon. But as the days turned into a week at The Hideaway and then turned into a fortnight, Draco became someone who – when he didn’t have an assigned task – didn’t know what to do with himself. Before he’d always been allowed to read Potter’s books, however, and sometimes even order more books as a reward. So he was – only slightly nervously – searching the parlour shelves for a distraction when Pansy came in and cleared her throat with a small, delicate sound.

Buddhism, he wondered. What was Buddhism? How did he even pronounce it? Was the ‘h’ silent? Potter had so many books on it.

Draco turned slowly, making his face an impassive mask, wondering what she would say, and what he could possibly say in return. They’d hardly spoken since she’d squeezed his hand that day. _He’d_ hardly spoken all fortnight. “Pansy?”

“Hullo, Draco. How are you?”

He tipped his head in confusion, regretting the revealing action immediately. But how he was – after all – was something he did his best not to consider. That had been true for many long months.

He could at least be polite, he decided. “Fine, and you?” Thankfully, manners required neither logic nor honesty.

“I’m well, thank you.” She paused and fiddled with the hem of her skimpy dress. “I, er….”

She was rescued by the arrival of their employer, who had a look on his face that Draco immediately disliked. The only word he could think of to describe it would have been ‘vindictive,’ but that seemed unlike the man as Draco preferred to recall him. He hoped.

“My whores. Good. You, sit down and watch. I’m going to fuck Pansy. Pansy, get on your knees. No, face sideways to him.”

Vindictive it was, then.

Draco immediately sat in the closest chair, then found himself distractedly wondering if this had been a mistake, as it was the most comfortable chair in the room. The Master’s chair. But Potter made no comment as Pansy moved Potter’s track bottoms out of the way and found his cock, already getting hard.

He watched her take Potter’s balls in one hand and the shaft in the other. He watched as she closed her eyes and smiled before she took a good bit of that cock into her mouth and then began sucking up and down, hard enough to hollow her cheeks, wet enough to cover her hand, and now starting to drip with her saliva.

He remembered doing all those things himself, to that very cock. In the bed down the hall, in this room, and once in the blooming, fragrant garden.

He took a deep breath and attempted to calm his heartbeat. His cock started to harden. He had no idea what to do about that, and tried to ignore it.

What did it mean to miss someone when you lived in his home? When you ate dinner with him every night? When you watched him have sex with someone else?

Potter was moaning very quietly, but Pansy was silent. Draco wondered if this was discomfiting for her. If perhaps she truly disliked causing Draco pain, or more simply if she didn’t like being watched this way. Potter seemed to wonder as well, for he frowned and then spoke. “You are supposed to love having my cock in your throat, whore. Show me you like it.”

She moaned at that, loudly, and Potter bellowed. “Yes! That’s my bitch; suck it, whore. Fuck, I gotta fuck you now. Get up. Bend over the chair.”

When Draco saw Potter point at the chair that he himself was already sitting in, his chest clenched tight with pain. He doubted his face remained blank under this new onslaught, and the awful new look on his employer’s face apparently confirmed that.

At least Pansy’s face was hidden under her hair. Draco recoiled as surreptitiously as possible, but how far can one retreat into an armchair?

Directed by his employer’s gestures and grunts, Draco watched as Pansy pulled up her short skirt to Potter’s specifications, as she obediently pulled open her arse cheeks, first for Potter’s perusal and then to help him get inside her cunt.

He stared at her long, dark hair, grateful but still not relaxing when he saw that she wasn’t going to touch him with anything else. That she was bracing herself against the chair so she wouldn’t touch him.

He counted nearly to sixty in his head before he realized he’d lost track and started over, attempting to breathe in a slow, relaxed rhythm.

“You want this, don’t you?”

Pansy answered, “Yes, oh, yes!” but Potter smacked her bum. “Not you, him.” He looked at Draco's face. “You wish it were you on my cock, don’t you?”

Draco could only nod his head once: Down. Up. Silence.

“Good. But you won’t be having it. Remember that.” Potter grinned cruelly. It was a lopsided, toothy thing. He let go of Pansy’s hip and moved his left hand closer to Draco's face. Draco tried not to shrink away or close his eyes, but Pansy wriggled, and it distracted Potter away from punishment and back to his cock and her cunt.

Somehow, Draco managed not to have skin-to-skin contact with either of them throughout the encounter. Their eyes were a different story. Potter spent most of that fuck looking right into Draco's face, even once snapping “Look at me, whore!” when Draco's eyes closed without permission.

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The next morning, to his shame, Draco awoke to the irrefutable evidence that he had ejaculated in his sleep like some pathetic, virginal teen. He did a halfway approximate job of wandlessly cleaning his shift, but the sheets were far beyond his abilities. He could hardly look at Liggy all day, knowing she was eventually going to change his sheets.

He was incredibly grateful that no one mentioned it to him.

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After that, the couple often sought him out, and although they never fucked over his lap again, Draco learned that if Potter caught his eye, Draco was thereby forbidden to leave or even to close his eyes or turn his head. So he watched Pansy take Potter’s cock in her throat, arse, cunt, hands and between her tits. And he watched as Potter’s cock moved in and out, or Potter’s hips rotated, and when Potter came inside her body or on Pansy’s skin. Because if he didn’t, he had to lock eyes with the man he wanted while that man fucked someone else.

Thanks to his beloved erection potion, Potter usually fucked Pansy four, five or even six times a day. Draco sometimes got caught in a room with them, and therefore had to watch at least once or twice a day. They probably only forced their fucking on him for a few months, but it felt like an eternity.

It didn’t take long for Draco to seek out places they would be unlikely to go, getting better at it as he relearned the house and observed the couple’s patterns. All through the winter, he turned blue in the garden – barefoot and inadequately dressed in his ugly shift as always – rather than be found and forced to see them go at it.

Eventually, slowly, Potter lost interest in making Draco watch.

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Christmas passed without a single decoration or present visible in The Hideaway. The only reason Draco even knew when it was the 25th of December was that the Master Flooed over to the Weasley’s home for most of the day, leaving a very bored Pansy to nap away the afternoon without her lover.

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The only other time – by far the nicest time – Draco saw Potter was at meals. Liggy now had Draco help serve. Sometimes, she even required his help with preparation. Draco didn’t much mind. He was aware of life enough again to get bored, and chores made it easier to escape the fuckfest going on in the rest of the house.

Though he found he preferred it to much of his life, even Draco had to admit that dinner was always an awkward affair. In part because, as when he’d lived there before, Liggy generally took her meals with the humans, and she liked to participate in the conversation. Draco would remain silent unless prodded to speak, so he strove to be dull and therefore not be pushed to engage with the others.

Occasionally Potter had a guest at dinner – often Fred Weasley or Lee Jordan, but essentially always one unmarried man – and then Pansy sucked cocks under the table and Draco and Liggy ate in the kitchen.

Either way, after dinner Draco was permanently required to help Liggy with cleaning up.

He was terrible at it. He spilled. He broke dishes. His shift always got dirty. Food. Sauces. Washing up liquid. He’d no experience with kitchens and it showed. Still, he would have expected to improve eventually, but when the kitchen was finally clean after dinner, he damn near always needed to strip before exercising so Liggy could wash his one ugly shift.

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“Master is wantsing the beef stew tonight, and you wills be serving it.”

Draco stood. He’d been sitting in his employer’s garden, staring at the brook. It was odd how soothing it was, watching that little stream burbling past. No matter what happened in Draco's life, that brook was always there. He counted it as a great blessing that he was usually permitted a few hours every day to sit quietly on his employer’s stone bench and read, or stare at the brook. Winter was nearly past now. He could watch the water without freezing his bare feet.

“Thank you, Liggy.” Her blue flowered pillowcase was spotless, down to the delicately crocheted hem. He found himself speculating that she might have crocheted it herself. He never looked Liggy in the eye. She was the most disconcerting house elf he’d ever known. Funny how he’d once thought her discreet and well trained. She wasn’t “discreet” at all, but cunning. And she wasn’t “well-trained,” so much as she had tremendous self-control. He really didn’t think his employer ever had the slightest idea what she was thinking, and the last time he’d been in the house, he hadn’t either. He’d been preoccupied with his Master and hadn’t paid nearly as much attention to Liggy then as he did now. Now he pondered, though, that if house elves attended Hogwarts, this one would have been in Slytherin.

Draco put his employer’s first novel on the small table by the back door and then returned to the kitchen. He ladled heavy, fragrant stew into four beautiful blue and gray stoneware bowls and brought the first two into the dining room. Pansy and Potter were already sitting at the table, and Pansy smiled gently in Draco’s direction without catching his eye. His employer ignored him completely until he’d turned toward the kitchen, only saying “thank you,” after Draco had stepped away from the table.

After Draco brought in his and Liggy’s stew, and Liggy sat, Draco served the wine and milk and gave Pansy and his employer a second slice each of the heavy sourdough bread Liggy frequently made to go with beef stews and soups. He sat silently through dinner, listening as Pansy, Potter, and occasionally Liggy discussed the news of the day and Potter’s editor’s latest set of demands. The Master never reacted well to being told that a whole chapter was problematic. He tended to throw things after meetings with his editor, and the aftermath of meetings with the publisher was even worse.

But Draco had read all three of the man’s novels, and they were each better than the last, so Draco tended to side – silently – with the editor and publisher. Potter was a good writer, but Draco thought the editors and publisher knew what they were doing as well.

When he’d finished eating, Draco stood and began clearing the table. Liggy ignored him, although she always finished eating first. A creature so small, she always ate the least of any of them.

Draco's new appetite surprised him. It wasn’t so much that he was interested in the taste or the food itself, he mused as he scraped and then rinsed the dishes. It was that he spent so much time on the treadmill, the rowing machine, and jumping rope, that if he didn’t eat heartily he could not accomplish his assigned tasks in his employer’s gym room.

He didn’t know why Potter wanted him to exercise, as he hadn’t seen Draco naked since… _that_ afternoon.

Liggy entered the room as Draco spilled some of the rich beef broth on his shift. It was the second time he’d done that just tonight. By now he would have thought he would be less clumsy with such things, but it had been months and he always seemed to dirty his shift if not during, then after dinner. He sighed.

“I apologize for making more work for you again, Liggy.”

Her head whipped toward him. “I’z used to your clumsy,” she snapped. “But Master Harry shouldn’t haves to get new shift of a worthless slaves such as you is,” she groused.

“It’s dinner or sweat, it seems. I don’t know which is worse.”

Liggy ignored him and continued to clean up after dinner. Draco stayed as long as he could get away with helping her, unenthusiastic about another endless evening in his employer’s gym room. It was so rare that he was able to exercise in his shift. He was over being uncomfortable with the immodesty of it. No one ever seemed to enter the exercise room while he was in there, anyway. But when the sweat was pouring off him he greatly preferred to have cloth on, especially under his arms. It made exercising more physically comfortable.

But he knew what was expected of him, and as Pansy and the Master canoodled in front of the large screen telly, Draco began his nightly ritual: a full ninety minutes in the gym room, every night. He thought he might look a bit of all right now, actually. Certainly he fit a lot more exercise into that ninety minutes now. And his braid was longer, too: getting to be about as long as he liked it. Soon it would annoy him constantly, but it was what Harry Potter wanted him to look like, and so it would not be cut.

Not that Potter – or anyone else – ever looked at him. Anyone but Liggy, that is. None of it made sense, but he was starting to accept that making sense was still irrelevant, even having moved from being under Tilford’s control to Potter’s.

Spring approached. Potter took Pansy away for an entire month. Draco was heading for the garden when he heard the news.

“Panse-a-muffin! Our itinerary came! Look, first Paris, then Budapest, then Easter Island. A week in Arizona. First the ranch, then we tour the Grand Canyon. Mm, I can hardly wait to fuck you there, with that river swirling around our ankles.”

“I’ll fall down!” She laughed like tinkling glass and Draco imagined glasses shattering instead, spilling champagne and ruining a previously pretty dress.

“I’ll be holding onto your tits, my pretty whore, and you won’t be anywhere but helplessly speared by my cock.”

“Ooh, show me how that works?”

Draco closed the back door behind him as silently as possible. Then he stared at the brook for a long time, imagining what their holiday would mean for him. At least he couldn’t be forced to watch them fuck, he thought.

For the long, unseasonably hot, unusually dry month of April, Draco took long walks through the garden. He read books mostly about this Muggle thing called ‘Buddhism,’ at least in part because Potter had dozens on the subject. And he silently and swiftly did whatever Liggy asked.

He sat by the diminished brook and watched it struggle not to dry up completely. He never spoke except to thank or acknowledge Liggy, who nonetheless really let her hatred show in her eyes when Potter wasn’t in the house. He continued his exercise routine and even increased it, since no one else would be wanting the room when he was the only human in the house.

He started to try to learn Buddhist meditation.

He was drowning in boredom.

He was trying not to dry up completely.


	3. Three

Chapter 3

Draco was struggling again with a challenging passage of Healing Emotions: Conversations with the Dalai Lama on Mindfulness, Emotions, and Health when everything changed completely before going back to what passed for normal.

“Liggy! I’m home!” Potter and Pansy burst through the Floo and suddenly the house was exploding with noise, light and smells. Draco curbed his impulse to run to the calendar and check it. His employer was only a little early, and he didn’t want to look discombobulated, though surely a slight expression of surprise was acceptable.

It didn’t matter, though. No one was looking at him. Pansy was already heading toward the bedrooms and Liggy was taking all of her Master’s attention.

“Master Harry! Master is here! What do Master need? Master is six hours earlys! Dinner is not readys yet!” Liggy looked ready to smack her head into the floor and Draco's employer bent down and caught her – so gently – by the elbow. Draco's breath caught in his throat as he looked at that connection. Leathery greenish-brown elbow. Strong masculine hand. Draco closed his eyes and bent his head toward the floor.

“I won’t have you hurting yourself, Liggy,” Potter said, in the mildest of voices.” I came home because I was done being away. Now hush and get back to work. I hardly expect you to read my mind better than I can.”

Draco slipped unnoticed toward the backyard as Liggy muttered praises and adoration of their Master and Master Harry himself strode toward the bedrooms and Pansy.

That night Draco's newfound meditation practice failed him completely. He did not find a semblance of inner calm for himself – let alone sleep – until he finally struggled out a mostly effective wandless _Silencio_ on the wall and door closest to his employer and the favoured whore. The holiday had clearly not dampened the Master’s interest in Pansy’s cunt.

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That summer passed quickly, somehow. Draco studied the Buddhism books. The other two people had a lot of loud sex, but Draco never had to watch them anymore: the Master had apparently tired of that game. No one left the house, but the days passed seamlessly into one another without pain as Draco began to learn Buddhist meditation.

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In the fall Potter’s fourth book was released and there were parties. Pansy had a new dress for each one. One, Master Harry claimed, was his birthday present to himself. Most of them were sleeveless, and every one was slit to the waist – for Potter’s whores, of course, never wore undergarments while he was showing them off. The frocks eventually represented every color in the jewel box. They gleamed in Potter’s other guest suite closet, stacking sideways like monochromatic flowers.

“Harry! It’s so beautiful!” Pansy was twirling, the new silky scrap clutched to her neck. Draco looked up from Awakening the Mind, Lightening the Heart.

“Take off that rag and slip this on. Show me what I paid for, my pretty whore.”

“Of course, Harry. Won’t you help me take this off, though? It’s a bit tight through here.”

“Where?” Master Harry stepped closer and Draco got to his feet to slip away, not wanting to see what was coming next. With approval he noted that he’d automatically slipped into his new breathing exercise. Inhale to the count of thirty. Hold to the count of thirty. Exhale to the count of thirty. Repeat until calm was achieved or until the Master finally came.

Master Harry no longer fucked Pansy in front of him. Draco was confident that he could leave this scene without censure. He stood to slip away, never interrupting his counted breaths.

“Right… here. Feel?”

Hold to the count of thirty…

“Bend over, whore. You’ve been _very_ naughty and given me an erection. Again.”

“Of course, Sir. But don’t you think I… oh, oh fuck. Harry!”

Inhale to the count of thirty…

Their voices, and noises, faded only when Draco shut himself into the gym room. Sighing, he stared at the treadmill. “Hello, old friend,” he sighed, and climbed on, bunching his shift up into his armpits to catch the sweat he knew was coming.

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When the parties ended, Master Harry took Pansy with him on the book tour. They were gone all weekend – Thursday morning to Monday at dinner, usually – for more weeks than Draco had the heart to count, though he knew Liggy marked the calendar carefully.

It was rainy, and then it was snowy again. Liggy needed nothing. Draco spent a lot of time on the treadmill, on the rowing machine, reading about suffering and acceptance, and occasionally even watching telly from a pillow on the floor.

Liggy sneered at him more, spoke more sharply to him, openly rolled her eyes at even his smallest mistakes, and even ordered him away from her two or three times on those evenings. Draco saw the strain she was under, but what could he do? He didn’t even like her himself.

On the other hand, Liggy disliked Pansy even more. Pansy and Potter didn’t have the sort of baggage to overcome that Potter and Draco did. In addition, what baggage they had they had worked through some years before, the first time Pansy went to live at The Hideaway. So she was a large presence in the household. Truthfully, Draco thought he’d never seen her so happy.

He realized one day, as the first anniversary of their new confinement passed; he truly appreciated the way she never spoke to him anymore.

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The first time Liggy mentioned her new… strategy, Draco kept his surprise to himself. It was easier than he would have expected. Perhaps all that Buddhism stuff was having an effect.

“Master Harry, this advertisement came in the mails, and I thoughts… maybe for your favoured … escort?”

Curious, Draco resolved to fish the thing out of the trash later, but it wasn’t necessary.

“A spa, eh? What a fine idea, Liggy! Pansy will come back even softer and prettier. I love it!”

“Liggy is so glad you likes the advertisement, Master Harry!”

And Pansy was happy too. At dinner on Saturday she regaled them with talk of cucumber slices on her eyes while she slept encased in healing muds, the intensive sloughing her soles and elbows had endured, and the fun of choosing attractive colors of toe and finger nail paints.

When she started to explain the treatment and potions used to firm and tighten the skin of her breasts, Master Harry threatened to interrupt her dinner with a little “extra protein.”

For several days after the spa visit Master Harry was to be found getting his “money’s worth” for Pansy’s treat and treatments. Draco walked in on Pansy blowing Master in the dining room, and later in Master’s office.

“A package is coming through the Floo for the Master! Yous must tell him immediately, slave. Master haves to sign for it right away!”

“Sir?” Draco tried as he headed for his employer’s office. Pansy was settling into the man’s lap, her dress hiked up around her waist, and the Master’s beautiful cock disappearing between her tight, muscular thighs.

“Not… now!” Master Harry bit at Draco, and he ripped open Pansy’s ragged dress with one hand while the other guided her arse up and down. When Pansy’s tits poured out of her old pink tatter, Draco could see, even from the doorway, that the spa really had improved them. They were practically bouncing on her ribcage, and Draco thought they looked larger.

Draco tried to slip out the doorway, but Master Harry caught his eye and shook his head slightly. “No, you’ll watch,” he panted. Miserable and manipulated, Draco nodded. But Pansy didn’t look toward him at all, and even small kindnesses are appreciated.

Master maneuvered one of Pansy’s nipples into his mouth and Draco could hear the slurp every time Pansy sank down far enough onto the Master’s cock that her breast tried to pull away from the Master’s mouth. Her breasts were not small, but she was still so very petite.

Draco stood in the shadows and waited to tell the Master about the box that awaited him in front of the floo.

Inhale to the count of forty. Hold to the count of forty….

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Draco was putting Pansy’s chicken, green beans and rice in front of her one night when she sneezed. He wasn’t sure what to do. Offer a tissue? Replace her plate?

“You’ve been sniffly today, Panse. Why don’t you eat a bit and then go lie down?”

“Of course, Harry. That’s kind of you.”

After Pansy went to bed the uncomfortable silence of the dinner table felt thick and yet breakable. Draco had no idea what to do with it. He was grateful when Liggy sent him to administer a potion. He heard Liggy explain to the Master that she could take care of the dishes herself tonight.

Pansy blinked at him when he flicked on the lamp. Then she took the bottle and squinted at it. “What is this? Par-uh-see-te-mol? Pro-meth-a-zeen hydro-chlor-ide? Dex-tro… holy hell! I’ve never heard of these potions!”

Draco looked at the bottle. “All I know is Liggy told me to bring it to you.”

“Ugh,” Pansy sat up in the guest room bed. “That little bitch, she’s probably trying to poison me.” Pansy blew her nose explosively. Draco could see how red her eyes and nose were, even in the low light of the one lamp. “Tell me, old friend. Does she hate you like she hates me?”

“Almost,” Draco conceded. He gestured at the bottle, wondering what Pansy would choose to do.

“I don’t have the energy to fight with the little fiend. Pour me the potion, won’t you please?” Pansy drank it and lay down. “I’d love to say goodnight to Harry in person, if he’s willing. Would you tell him, please?”

He flicked off the light as he walked out, closing the door quietly. The man was probably working in his office. But it was Liggy he could hear. She sounded anxious.

“No’s sir! You mustn’t! The whore will get you sicks, sir! Liggy will get her well and sir won’t risk it! Please, sir!”

Draco stood outside the door, tugging absentmindedly at the end of his braid. His employer would see him if he simply looked up.

“Only I call her whore, Liggy. We’ve discussed that. And I’ve already been exposed to her cold. But if it makes you happy, fine. I won’t go in there tonight.” The Master smiled indulgently at his elf, then looked up and caught Draco's eye for the briefest second before redirecting his glance to the side. “Yes?”

“I’ll tell Pansy you’ll visit later?”

But when Draco reentered the guest room Pansy was already asleep, breathing noisily.

Draco assumed nothing had changed unless he was told it had, but when Liggy caught him climbing into his ‘own’ bed, she berated him.

“Whores are for Master’s bed! Get’s you to Master’s bed and awaits you Master’s erection!” Her volume dropped and she muttered the rest. “Whores is for fucking.”

“Shouldn’t Master make that decision?” Draco asked, feeling deeply uncertain. Potter’s voice drifted in from his office, where he’d clearly been listening.

“Let him sleep in there, Liggy. I’ll be working late tonight.”

Liggy trotted eagerly toward the office. “But he’s will be the mouth to wake you’s, yes sir?”

There was a long pause and Draco found himself holding his breath. He’d not so much as breathed on his employer’s penis in the eighteen or so months he’d been back ‘living’ at The Hideaway.

“That’s all right, Liggy. I’ll get myself up in the morning. It will be good practice for me.”

Draco released his breath and refused to consider his employer’s meaning.


	4. Four

Chapter 4

“Harry! Harry!” Pansy’s voice was exuberant and Draco wondered what she was on about. He leaned forward just enough to drop his head down without his braid catching on the chair behind him; then put down Turning Suffering Inside Out and closed his eyes. He’d learned there was no point in reading through these conversations. Some part of him needed to hear.

“The spa sent me a letter! They are inviting me to an _exclusive_ mid-week retreat. Only their best customers are even being invited, see? But we have to ask for a space right away, or I won’t get one! Can I go? I’ll be so gorgeous for you when I come back!”

Draco opened his eyes and – where there had been an open doorway a moment before – he saw Liggy. The two of them accidentally locked eyes, and Liggy gave him a look of contempt and superiority that floored him. He wondered about it for the briefest second, until he heard his employer speaking.

“Oh Pansy,” the man’s voice was fond. “Don’t you see what this is? It’s practically a scam. They claim to only send out a few invitations here, but then they tell you they’ve sent out more invitations than there are spaces.”

Liggy sneered again, and Draco's eyes opened wider. He watched her swish a fluffy duster like a feather boa and walk away as their Master continued.

“Don’t look so sad, girl. You can still go, if that’s what you want. Why don’t you sit on my lap while I Floo them, all right?”

Feeling ensorcelled, Draco got to his feet and followed Liggy down the hall. Really, what could she do to him, after all, that someone else had not already done?

He considered crouching down in the kitchen doorway when he got there, but decided that would look like he thought he was talking to a child. So he sat cross-legged on the floor, his book open in his lap. His braid fell over his shoulder and he ignored it. He held to the right page and ploughed into what he hoped was not dangerous territory.

“She thinks she just played him, doesn’t she? She did, as it happens, but only because you just played her even more effectively, didn’t you?” He forced himself to look into Liggy’s eyes again and she put down the carrot she’d been chopping and faced him fully.

“You is a whore.” She said it quite clearly, as though he wouldn’t understand him otherwise. As if he didn’t already know what he was. What he had been for years now. He tipped his head slightly to the side and her voice grew more vehement. “You is a just a whore, while I is a _servant_. Worse, you is a whore that _no one fucks_. But I is a _good, useful, effective, servant_. And you will remembers your place.”

Draco looked at his lap, at the title of his book, and felt his face heat. Yes. It was all true. “I apologize for my impertinence, Liggy,” he said with all the graciousness he could manage. Once upon a time his mother had taught him well, after all. Then he stood as silently and fluidly as possible, pleased with his success in that one, small matter, and walked to the gym. Today he would at least exercise in his shift.

Two hours later, after ninety minutes of exercise and thirty minutes of meditation and a quick shower, Draco turned off the water and grabbed a towel. Liggy wasn’t there, and he sighed. He’d have to comb through his hair alone, and braid it by himself, too. Liggy forced him to do this himself most of the time these days, and he’d gotten a lot more accomplished with it, but he still wished he had permission to cut most of it off. He could easily live with it falling to his shoulders, he thought, but it was long enough to catch on everything again, and he really wanted it gone.

As much as he preferred to wear the shift at all times, he found caring for his overly long hair easier when his back was bare, so he stood in the bathroom, combing laboriously. The braid, when he finally finished it, was loose and uneven, but it would serve. He was fully dry now as well, so he grabbed the shift from the hook where Liggy had hung it after spelling it clean.

He didn’t think it was his imagination that it fit a bit tighter through the chest than it had when he’d handed it to her not an hour ago, soaked with sweat. It took him an hour to realize it was a little shorter, too.

He decided to say nothing. Speaking with her was far too unpleasant to repeat, if he could avoid it.

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Pansy was gone far longer this time. She Flooed over to the spa Tuesday morning, looking slightly chagrinned as she did so.

Liggy pushed Draco into the gym room immediately, and Draco climbed onto the treadmill in his shift. But ninety minutes later, as he gratefully pulled his shift off and made to head for ‘his’ guest room where he would attempt to meditate before his shower, Liggy grabbed the shift from his hand and growled at him.

Hands on hips and anger in her small violet eyes, she ordered him back. “Exercise too easy now for you. Go lifts weight.”

He almost questioned her. He even opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. Why bother to ask if it was what Potter wanted? He might think of the man as his ‘employer’ but Draco knew who really ran his life, and she was three feet tall and wearing a flowered pillowcase.

He moved to the weights and put only three of the smallest rounds on each side. Might as well start small. Who knew how hard or fast she would want to push him.

Looking at her crocheted hem, he managed his pitiable, pathetic question. “Will you spot me, please?” He’d avoided the weights all this time for fear of hurting himself. This required a wandless spell neither he nor his father had ever considered he might need. Liggy snorted at him and flicked both hands toward the barbells, dumbbells and loose weights. They all glowed blue for a moment, then the light slowly sank into the metal. “That last all month. I do again when needed. Weights not break whore’s _precious_ head. Now stops dawdling!” She twitched in fury at his existence and walked away.

Draco began to lift.

This time when he got out of the shower he was quite certain the shift was slightly tighter, slightly shorter. He thought it might be whiter as well, but that he might have imagined.

He said nothing to Liggy and went to help serve the Brussels sprouts and roast chicken. Nothing got on his robes that evening, which he claimed as a victory and went to read his book in the garden.

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That night he and his employer both slept and woke alone, and Wednesday night as well. Liggy and Potter were both silent. But on Thursday evening, with Pansy still at the spa until mid-afternoon Friday, Draco stopped walking toward the garden when he heard Liggy begin to argue with Potter.

“Master gone too long without enjoying a warm body. Master hate sleeps alone and Master not have to. I finally cleans the guest suite real good, and Master fucks the boy-whore tonight, of course he does.”

Draco was ashamed to let out his breath only after he heard the whole of the man’s answer.

“Liggy. _Stop_. You are an excellent house-elf but… I insist that you remember this: _I decide who I fuck._ ”

Inhaling silently, Draco leaned against the wall, listening for a reply. All that came was “Stop. Now, don’t… look that way. I’ll be in my office.”

Draco went to the garden with his book and stared at the running water until it was too dark too see.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

When Pansy got home from the spa, her tits were even bigger and bouncier than they had been after previous visits. She was rarely off Potter’s cock for several days.

“Tell me, bitch.” Their employer had bent Pansy over a heavy wooden credenza and was slamming into her while looking into Draco's eyes. Commanded to freeze in a doorway again, Draco could do nothing but listen.

“First… ahh… first the masseuse rubbed my shoulders and neck while the owner fucked me. He kept telling me how you had… ooh… negotiated… a half-price rate in exchange for my pussy. He… ahh… he loved saying ‘pussy’ and he…. He seemed to think this would be news to me, like you… yourself wouldn’t have… already told me and… made sure I knew and… please fuck me, sir!” She scrabbled at the shiny wood and Draco could see that her hips were already turning red where Potter was banging her body into the table.

“I fuck, you talk!” Potter rotated his hips and pulled almost all the way out. His dick was shiny and Draco stared at it. Futile. He felt hollow.

“They all fucked… me, sir. Just like… you wanted. All the… men fucked me at least twice and… ahh… there were three men. The masseuse had a pencil dick, but… the… accountant was hung like a stallion and… he fucked me in my bed every night I was there and….”

“Yeah? Keep talking… whore. I want to hear it… all.” Potter would slow down when he spoke, but then while Pansy was talking he would speed up and thrust into her, hard and fast and all the time staring at Draco.

Draco wondered what color his face was. Or his knuckles around the book. Inhale to the count of fifty-two….

“The accountant wanted me to have an orgasm on him… every time so… I would ride him while he sucked and rubbed my… tits and… and then he would fuck me and fuck me, he always made it last like… like no one ever fucked him and he… had to make this last for years and… he was really ugly but… I always came because….”

This went on for a few days. When Potter found out the spa’s onsite Mediwitch had wanted Pansy’s mouth on her clit, licking the witch under her desk while she “did paperwork” for the forty five minutes before Pansy’s last massage – a massage that had lasted an extra hour so all the men on staff could come fuck her on the massage table one last time – their come dripping all over the once clean pink sheets she’d lain on for the massage, Potter had suddenly needed to take her on the dining room table.

They interrupted dinner to fuck, as well.

Draco had no idea what to do with the rabbit pie he’d not yet finished eating.

Draco didn’t dare try to peek into his employer’s head again – he didn’t fancy another piss in the face – but as he sat there, commanded to watch Potter take Pansy from behind, her hands gripping the handles he’d magicked into the table’s surface, it was all Draco could do not to visualize their very first threesome – with that table and those same damn brass handles. And he wondered, tears pricking his eyelids, if the man was projecting that image at him for spite’s sake, or if Draco himself was simply too pathetic not to remember it as he watched the lovers erase it with their eighth fuck of the day.

Really, Draco couldn’t understand how they weren’t both too sore to continue.

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The next time Pansy went to the spa their employer went too, and he apparently got his own massage while he watched the accountant fuck Pansy, slow as treacle and nearly as sweet.

Draco heard about that one for a few weeks while they fucked in front of him.

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It was late spring when Draco started to hear talk about Charlie Weasley coming to visit. At first it was all from Liggy.

“Master has not had a visit from the handsome dragon tamer man in a whiles.”

…

“Master Charlie’s birthday soon, perhaps he would likes a Hideaway visit?”

…

“Should Liggy organizes Romanians or Britishes Portkey for the Weasley gentleman?”

At first his employer brushed Liggy off, then he scolded her gently. But then Draco was cleaning the kitchen when he overheard an exchange he didn’t really understand. Curious, he stopped scraping dishes and listened.

“The arrangement is been made for the… escort female to go to the spa for a whole weeks, sir.”

A whole week? His employer was going to go a whole week without fucking anything?

“Oh Harry, really? Are you coming along at all this time? Last time with you there was so….”

Draco could imagine the sultry look on Pansy’s face and sighed. Of course, their Master would visit, or just go for the whole thing. He knew how stupid it was, and fervently wished it weren’t true, but he couldn’t help it: he hated when the man was away all night. He scraped the last dish and went to put the leftovers away, making as little noise as possible, so he could still hear.

“Not this time, Panse-a-muffin. I’ve negotiated you a completely free stay this time, because you’ll mostly be on your knees under people’s desks. You’ll get three spa treatments every day in exchange for at least three, and no more than six sexual acts every day. You’ll sleep for free because instead of a regular room you’ll be passed from staff bed to staff bed every night. _Fuck_. I can hardly wait for the Pensieve memories to arrive. Yes, that’s right, stroke my cock. Kiss it. Good girl. I’m going to fuck you inside those Pensieve memories, my pretty whore.”

“Master has made excellence plans for after hims… _escort_ returns, but who Master use while… _her_ is away?”

Feeling leaden and elephantine, Draco slipped as quietly as possible into the doorway to observe his employer’s reaction. Liggy continued to speak as he crept in.

He was certain he would be seen. But he couldn’t stay away.

“Would Master like to fuck the other… escort? Or should Liggy contact Mr. Tilford’s service for other holes?”

Draco saw that Liggy’s face was calm, as though she was merely asking for dinner requests, or if Master desired a lighter cloak for a surprisingly warm winter day. But Harry Potter had turned white and gone rigid. Then he turned an unattractive red and bit out an answer.

“You overstep your bounds, elf. I told you before. _I choose my own fucktoys_. You are dismissed.”

Liggy bowed and turned toward the kitchen, and Draco turned as well, not wanting to be seen by any of them. Especially Liggy. But he considered that exchange for days to come, without fully completing the puzzle. Where did Weasley fit in? Why would Pansy be gone so long? Why was Liggy pushing this so hard? Why did Potter put up with her? What did Potter – and Liggy for that matter – actually _want_? He was simply missing information. He wasn’t going to make sense of it.

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He was getting ready for bed one evening when Pansy appeared in the doorway to “his” little bathroom. He spat out the toothpaste and turned to her, wondering. She almost never spoke to him anymore. The surreptitious comforting looks and gentle touches had vanished long ago. Draco could no longer remember when they had ceased. When she noticed him nowadays she usually went blank and turned away: Draco recognized it as a low-level Slytherin trick to disguise inconvenient or embarrassing emotions. (It was always better to cover a real emotion with a false one than with nothing, but Pansy was probably out of practice after all this time enjoying Potter’s cock and generosity.) Draco suspected the expression she was covering up was extreme discomfort. They had been true friends, once upon a time.

“I… I mentioned to Harry how unfair it was that I get all this time at the spa and you get nothing. You used to like to order books over the internet, right?”

Draco nodded and wondered if he’d be allowed some more books. He’d read everything on Potter’s shelves at least once, and the good books he’d now read multiple times. Some as many as four or five.

“Oh good,” she smiled, eyes toward his chin. “I thought so. I told him I wanted you to be able to order some more soon, and he agreed.”

Without thinking about his motives or goals – most sloppy of him – Draco rewarded her kindness by poking at it. “I can just imagine _that_ conversation,” he said quietly. “He must have said yes right away, just to shut you up. He doesn’t like to remember I’m even here. Unless I’m watching you two rut, of course.”

“Well,” Pansy stalled. “He… yes. That’s true, Draco.” She finally looked him in the eye, and this time the look on her face was real.

It was pity.

Draco tried to make his wince invisible. “Do you know why?” he nearly whispered.

“No,” she said, and stepping forward, she patted his arm for the first time in what felt like many years. “Not better than you do, I’m sure.” Then she turned and left, leaving him to finish his toilette alone.

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Draco couldn’t help but be nearby when Pansy Flooed off for a full week at the spa. He’d carefully delayed walking to the gym room until just the right moment, but his employer paid him no attention at all, and Pansy had eyes only for Potter.

Draco exercised alone for two full hours, listening to loud music and wondering how the Master would satisfy his lust all week. Thanks to Pansy and a ready supply of potions able to dismantle the very shadow of a refractory period, the man was generally insatiable. And well Draco knew it, as he was still frequently forced to hear far too many of his employer’s and Pansy’s couplings. How could Harry Potter go a whole week without fucking someone? Would Charlie Weasley finally come visit? Would a whore be hired from Tilford? Or might his employer – finally – for the first time in nearly three years – use Draco's body as a convenient means to that end?

Master stayed in his office, behind a closed door, all day. At the evening meal the three awkward, uneasy, remaining residents of The Hideaway ate in near silence; although the weather was discussed briefly, and Draco was told his new book order would be filled soon.

Draco was grateful to be released from his chair to clean up, and sighed as he spilled wine on his shift. The damn thing had already been washed once today. Liggy was going to be annoyed.

And there she was, levitating everything into the kitchen that Draco had not brought in with him when he had left the dining room.

“I’z had enoughs of you,” she snapped. “Goes exercise now.”

“Again?” he stammered stupidly. “I did that this afternoon. Won’t Master want the…”

“Shuts up! Does as I tells!”

Draco backed out but Liggy snapped her long fingers at him and glared. “Wine spills,” she grumbled, and he stripped the shift off and put it on the floor. Then he headed toward the gym room, head down. At least his new books had not yet arrived. He planned to disappear as thoroughly as possible when that happened. At least – he sighed at his own ludicrous optimism – at least from Liggy.

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He’d only been running just long enough to shine slightly with exertion when the gym room door opened to admit – not Liggy – but his employer. His feet slowed to a stop and then the treadmill followed. The other man was looking at him. He was naked, platinum braid neatly bound behind his back, cock limp and useless, breathing almost normally.

He thought a thousand things about offering to get out of the way, or apologizing, or even – he was so hopeless – why did he even still want this – getting on his knees, but nothing actually came from his mouth before his employer simply closed the door and left.

“Damned Liggy,” Draco thought. He wouldn’t so much object to her machinations, if they only worked in his favour. Draco began to walk the treadmill again, preparing to speed into a run as soon as he could.

Tonight he’d start rereading that beginner book on Tibetan Buddhist meditation. He felt as though – even after all this revision and practice – he’d not learned a damn thing.

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Pansy was due to return the day before Potter’s birthday, but Potter ended up flooing to the spa in the middle of the week and satisfying his supposedly ‘uncontrollable’ lust in Pansy’s cunt while the Mediwitch groaned under Pansy’s mouth. Then he’d spent an hour with the Mediwitch (apparently a lesbian, but willing to make an exception for Harry bloody Potter) before flooing home and collapsing in bed – alone, but (according to a grumbling, frustrated Liggy) with a smile on his face.

Draco went back to reading the first – and least enticing – of his three new books.


	6. Six

Chapter 6

It was strange how time worked now. Draco couldn’t quite put a finger on why, but sometimes it dragged interminably and a day felt like a month. Then a whole summer would pass in what felt like the blink of an eye.

Fall brought a crispness to the air that Draco tried to appreciate. His feet were already feeling cold, though, and winter would only make that worse, he knew. Still, the coloured leaves swirling through the brook were lovely, and he enjoyed watched them escape their trees and dance through the water. Despite the chill in the air he could still get lost in time while watching them.

“Comes inside now, whore. Master is wantsing you in the parlour.”

Draco rose from the small stone bench next to the brook, placing a bookmark from Potter’s publishing company to mark his place in _Drinking the Mountain Stream_ even as he obeyed. Liggy walked ahead of him, and he followed her through the garden and into the house. He pushed his braid over his shoulder to his back. It often fell over one shoulder while he read.

Despite Liggy’s skill with the Master (not to mention single mindedness and unending determination), Draco was still surprised, so long after his and Pansy’s arrival at The Hideaway, to discover Charlie Weasley comfortably stretched out on the parlour sofa with Pansy’s silky chestnut hair rhythmically rising and falling in his lap. His robes were open, a short red braid curved over his right shoulder, and his belly looked firm and soft at the same time, curved as it was over Pansy’s hair and the man’s relaxed spine.

The Master was telling Pansy exactly how to suck Mr. Weasley’s cock – which Draco could not remember him doing for other blow jobs Pansy gave to guests. Not that Draco was officially _present_ for those visits.

“Take him into your throat now, Panse. She is so good at that, Charlie. It’s like she has gills.”

Draco had always suspected it was so his employer wouldn’t be tempted to use Draco's mouth to relieve his own tensions during such gatherings.

“Stroke his balls. He likes that. Now lick that fingertip and find his hole. Bet he hasn’t been touched there since the last time I fucked him.”

Weasley spread his legs for Pansy, who obeyed Potter instantly.

Draco shifted from one foot to the other. His employer’s words were arousing Draco, to his shame. For years now he’d done his best to pretend he didn’t have a penis anymore and he usually succeeded. Of course, the Master usually made that very easy. But his employer’s voice was caressing the very air, and Draco felt a need to put his book in front of his crotch.

Mr. Weasley sighed and petted once at Pansy’s hair. It looked awkward, despite the prodigious erection Draco saw gleaming with Pansy’s spit. “Come on, Harry. I know you want to keep the tart. If you have to get rid of one, give me Malfoy.”

Draco’s book slowly slipped from his fingers and onto the hand braided rag rug. He was sure his face showed everything, should anyone care to look at him. Horror, hope, astonishment. Weasley was taking one of them? Master meant to give Pansy away? Pansy, and not Draco? Pansy had that man so wrapped around her finger at that point that Draco could hardly believe Potter was willing to give her up, but when he looked in the corner and saw the gleam in Liggy’s eye he knew where the idea had come from, and he knew his Master would never figure it out on his own.

Not that Draco planned to tell him.

Liggy nodded at him once, serene and superior, and then vanished. He doubted anyone but he even realized she had been in the room.

“I don’t _have_ to get rid of either of them. Hell, if I wanted a third no one could stop me, Charlie. And you know it. You,” and he nodded toward Draco while never taking his eyes or attention from Weasley, “come suck me. I made a…” he paused and tapped the armrest. “… a promise when I took them.”

Draco shivered involuntarily – just the once – and took one step forward, expecting to be rebuked. His hands were freezing cold, suddenly, even though his face was burning. Was he ill? Master didn’t look at him. Was that an order? Was it for him? Who else could Master mean, though? Pansy was still sucking their guest off.

He took another step forward and then another. No one said anything and he knelt down between his Master’s broadly spread knees.

He hadn’t touched his Master’s skin in so long that he shook with fear and lust, but he pushed the man’s robes aside and went to work. Master was wearing open robes over soft cotton trousers that had a placket and buttons, and – fingers hardly shaking at all – Draco unbuttoned the top button.

“I know she doesn’t do much for you, you old faggot, but you can farm her out to all the boys at the reservation and earn yourself a lot more male tail that way.”

Draco unbuttoned the second button and then the last, spreading the cloth to the sides and releasing Master’s burgeoning erection. Enthralled, he caressed it and watched it jump with Master Harry’s pulse.

“And I’m sure you’d like a nice variety of arse, you’re a man, not a girl. Those tamers are all desperate for pussy. You’ll be the most popular tamer on the unmarried side of the preserve and you know it.”

Oh heavenly smell, taste, the velvet iron of his cock. Even better than he remembered, to take this particular shaft into his mouth, the side of his cheek. Those balls, so heavy and warm in his hand. He wanted to suck them but couldn’t bear to release his Master’s cock to do it.

“All Malfoy can give you is his own ugly arse. Stroke my balls harder now. Don’t you remember anything? She’s a bargaining chip. Besides, you can always turn her around and take her arse. I know she looks all wrong, but you can simply close your eyes and pretend she’s a boy. An arse is an arse.”

Master Harry suddenly shoved himself forward to the edge of the couch. He would have a lot more leverage from there. “Deep throat me now, you worthless whore.”

Draco immediately shoved his head downward to force Master Harry’s cockhead into the vise of his throat. Choking, he moved his head up and down, attempting to obey the order. He’d completely forgotten how to do this.

“Fucking gone worthless,” Potter complained. “Just hold still and I’ll fuck you myself.” He put both hands behind himself and lifted his arse off the couch just enough to move freely. Draco stayed as still as he could and breathed as calmly as he could.

“See Charlie, he can hardly even suck cock. I have to train him up all over again. You want that one.”

Then, needing to hold on to something and hoping not to be scolded, he reached up and gently touched the Master’s hips and the tops of his thighs as the Master fucked into Draco's mouth and the far tighter entrance to his throat. The tears started to fall – and then damn near pour – from his eyes. Annoyingly, it was enough to wet the end of his braid. He knew he should close them, but he wanted to watch. He knew he should be working hard to maintain breath control and force himself not to – Merlin forbid! – vomit on Harry Potter’s erection. But half his mind or more was completely taken up with the view. That big hard dick, shoving into _his_ mouth. _Those_ wiry black pubic curls pressing into his nose in that hard and fast rhythm. That beautiful belly, hard from daily exercise, flexing enticingly now as the man fucked Draco's wet face. The way Master’s shin occasionally pressed Draco's erection into his own belly was halfway to an afterthought after all of that.

Master didn’t so much as reach for his shoulder, but Draco still came before Potter did.

Once his Master had fucked Draco's throat raw and sat down fully again, sprawling like a king after a meal, Draco stayed perfectly still. He and the Master had skin to skin contact right now – leg to leg, cheek to thigh – and he wouldn’t give that up until forced. Mr Weasley had not yet come, and while the Master made no move to reach for Draco, neither was he dismissed. It was as though Draco ceased to exist once the Master’s erection was served. Finally, anonymity was blissful.

Draco could not see Mr Weasley or Pansy from where he sat on the floor between his Master’s knees, but he could hear that Pansy was wringing gasps and grunts from the man. Weasley might be a complete and unrepentant homosexual, but Pansy’s mouth was talented and eager, and a blow job was a blow job. Mr Weasley finally came, but so quietly that Draco hadn’t known for sure until he heard the man speak.

“That was nice, girl. Thanks. You’re a good cock sucker.”

“Of course she is, Charlie. Of course she is. And once you fuck her tight arse, I know you won’t mind taking her off my hands. Malfoy, go fetch our guest’s bag for him, he has something to show to Panse.”

Completely swallowing his sigh, Draco stood slowly, careful not to brace himself against the couch or – Merlin forbid – the Master’s knee. “Where’s your bag, sir?”

“Look at me. It’s by the fireplace. But first, I want you to look at me. Into my eyes.”

Draco lifted his eyes from the middle of Mr Weasley’s chest and was abruptly caught in the spider web of the man’s blue-eyed stare. “I want to fuck you, toy. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Mr Weasley smirked broadly, and Draco caught his breath. Would it really be so terrible if his employer changed his mind and he went to stay with this handsome, blue-eyed man? He imagined a few years spent underneath that broad chest, those impressive shoulders, that long, fire-bright hair. His knees spread around those slim hips.

Weasley smirked victoriously.

Would it be so bad to leave Britain for a few years? He was universally hated, here. At least it had seemed that way to the Tilford whores. Wouldn’t it be good to leave Liggy behind forever? To leave her kitchen and this stupid shift behind? Couldn’t he stand to suck that long dark cock, to bottom every day again, to perhaps even be appreciated – on some level – as a man, a sex partner, a companion?

He swallowed and a strand of bitter spunk dislodged from a tooth or some other hiding place and slipped past his tongue, teasing him as it disappeared. His Master’s come. He’d finally sucked Harry Potter off again. How could he leave this house when he’d finally touched his employer again? When the other set of convenient fuckholes was about to leave, leaving behind only Draco?

“I like what my Master wants me to like, sir,” he replied meekly. Then he moved to the fireplace and picked up the small black bag he now saw waiting there.

Mr Weasley’s voice changed, from commanding and quiet to louder and jovial. “You’ll give me at least one bang at that tall white arse though, won’t you old friend? You know I haven’t fucked a man in what feels like forever. Damn dragon tamers. They’re all straight! Who could have expected _that_?”

Draco moved to stand next to Mr Weasley with the little bag, and Weasley patted the couch where Draco was to sit. Then he hauled Pansy off the floor to sit on his other side.

“Go off to Romania to a place where all your coworkers are men, and the whole damn idiotic lot of them wank alone every night, pining for women and waiting to save up enough leave time for a good long visit to the nearest whorehouse. And there I am, right along with them.”

He took the bag from Draco's lap, first reaching under it to stroke Draco's spent cock through the wet spot he’d left on the fabric of his shift. “Mm, nice,” he muttered into Draco's ear. Then he pulled the bag into his own lap. “Gonna make you come myself, before I leave.”

“You visit a cathouse, Charlie?”

“Sure, they keep a couple of cute young things just for me. Mike and David, they call themselves. At least, they do for me. I’m sure their real names are Romanian! I pretty much always fuck ‘em both all night long, then dream of their tender little arses for another two or three months till I have the cash and the time off for a real splurge. Takes a lot of fancy potion to fuck both those teenagers all night long, you know!”

“You might just have a point though, with this little bitch in my bed I think I could convince most of those damn tamers to bend over for a good solid fuck. Especially if she was right there on his other end! Doubt any of them would take my spunk down their throat, but I’ve heard enough jokes about my preferences, and my cock….”

He opened the bag and took out a stack of photographs. Then he stole another grope putting the bag back into Draco's lap. Draco felt his cock respond minutely and ducked his head. Mr Weasley saw him and grinned. Damn. What would his employer think? He didn’t have the courage to look at the Master’s face to find out.

“I think the only thing keeping most of them from a nice little even exchange of orgasms is the sheer peer pressure of it. None of them wants to be seen as a faggot. Stupid bullshit, of course, but we often camp out in the field, shower together and all that rot, and quite a few of the boys seem to ‘doth protest’ far too much, you know what I mean?”

“Oh, sure.” Master Harry stretched and Draco heard one of his joints crack. “Come rub my shoulders, whore.” Draco got to his feet immediately but Pansy did as well. He stopped in confusion and Pansy kept walking.

“No, Panse-a-muffin, your counterpart over there. He needs to get his hands back in shape for me anyway.”

Pansy sat back down and Draco hurried behind the Master’s chair. He was going to give his employer the best backrub he’d ever received, even if it meant his hands cramped with pain all night.

The stack of photographs, as it turned out, were mostly of Mr Weasley’s co-workers, who were not all handsome, by any means, but Pansy seemed to approve of their universally broad shoulders, trim waists, large hands. Closing them first as a precaution, Draco rolled his eyes when she saw fit to squeal with approval at a few. For in addition to that dragon tamer build, the occasional man was apparently also worth looking at from the neck up.

“Who is _this_?” Pansy cooed, taking one snapshot from Mr Weasley.

Draco pressed hard at a knot in Master Harry’s right shoulder and ignored the pain it caused his wrist.

“Good eye, girl. That one is _damn_ high on my “to fuck” list. His name is Merlin Hifikepunye. He’s from Namibia. Homophobic as all hell.” He paused and looked at her. “If anything on earth can get my lips around his beautiful black cock, it’s you.” His grin increased and he slouched further into the couch, looking like he owned the place.

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All through dinner, or at least, after Draco had crawled under the table to deep throat Master Harry and right behind him – even bumping into his arse and kicking his feet once or twice – Pansy did the same for Mr Weasley, Mr Weasley explained what twenty or so months in Mr Weasley’s ‘service’ would look like for Pansy.

Weasley expected Pansy to share his bed and wake him with a blow job every morning. He also expected to use her as – hopefully extremely effective – arse bait. He felt fairly sure that, when smeared with the veneer of prostitution and heterosexuality, several coworkers would happily exchange the right to fuck Weasley’s new ‘girl’ for ten or fifteen minutes with the tradeoff of Mr Weasley’s cock simultaneously enjoying their own tight little arse.

Pansy asked him about the possibility of marrying one of the men when her rehabilitation sentence finally ended. Weasley looked thoughtful.

“You see,” Pansy interjected into the quiet, “I was thinking. They are all wizards, but they are from all over the world. With such an isolated and magical line of work I’ll bet most of them are pure-bloods. Or at least half-bloods.…”

Weasley nodded and Potter frowned.

“Oh come on, Harry. You know I need to live in a world I understand, and you know both of my parents and most of my extended family is still alive. I have to satisfy them, too, on some level. Merlin's balls, I was sentenced to so much prison time. They deserve some sort of pride in me after all this!”

Master Harry still frowned but went back to eating his potatoes. Weasley nodded agreeably. “I understand completely, Pansy, and I think my coworkers are a pretty decent place for you to look for a husband, actually. They are generally very competitive men. Some of them would never marry an ex-prostitute or an ex-convict, but if we let them know right up front that you’re in the market, I think most of them will respond really positively. And competitively.”

He stopped to slice at his chicken breast and Pansy leaped in.

“It could keep me safer when I’m alone with one of them, too, I think.”

“Yes, it could,” Weasley agreed. “It sounds like you’re interested.”

“Grateful more like,” Pansy conceded. “I have to go where Harry sends me. If you take me there I have to stay till my rehabilitation term expires. On that level, what I want is meaningless.”

“But if you are glad to be there,” Potter mused, “you’ll be a better cock sucker for my old friend, now won’t you?”

“I’m an _excellent_ cock sucker,” Pansy flirted, and Master Harry cracked a huge grin.

“Of course you are. But it’s those big bouncy tits I’m going to miss more than anything.” He dug back into dinner and Draco – silent for the entire meal – decided to take that as a compliment. He was an _excellent_ cock sucker as well, dammit, or at least he had been once. His employer had practically stated that out loud.


	7. Seven

Chapter 7

After dinner Draco rose to clear the table but Weasley looked surprised and his employer waved at him. “Sit, whore. Liggy can cope alone for once.”

The four of them headed for the parlour and Weasley hung back and grabbed for Draco's hand. “I’m going to fuck you before I leave tonight,” he whispered. “Sleep naked and wait for me. I’ll be the one who spreads your sleeping legs and fills you with a cock so hard you’ll think I’m using a gold Gringotts bar.” Then he stopped Draco with a hand to the hip and slipped behind. Pulling Draco's hips backwards, he rubbed the top of his own crotch into the bottom of Draco's arse. Weasley was taller than Master Harry, but not as tall as Draco. “I’m getting hard for you already, and no little bitch can satisfy like a man. You know that.”

Draco stood still and felt his cock fill. He’d not come under the table and his gut still coiled with unsatisfied lust. There was nothing in the world like the privilege of sucking Harry Potter’s dick.

“Charlie! Get your hands off my whore!”

“Aw Harry, you’re no damn fun,” Weasley whined, and rubbed a hand over Draco's not entirely flaccid cock before sauntering slowly into the parlour.

During the movie that no one paid any attention to, Draco and Pansy were commanded only to tease and toy with the men. Weasley and Master Harry quickly fell into a bit of a competition as to who would break first. They finished in a stalemate, however, ending the ninety minute movie with both whores licking, kissing, stroking and warming the now aching cocks standing out of both of their robes.

“I’d walk to the bedroom,” Potter joked, “but I think it would break off.”

“Let me fuck you while you come in one of them, Harry,” Mr Weasley panted.

“Sounds pretty good,” Master Harry conceded, and he gestured at Pansy but didn’t stand. Draco didn’t stop licking at the head of his Master’s erection. He’d not been explicitly told to stop, and frankly, he didn’t want to. The pre-come was flowing smoothly now, and had been for a long time. Draco didn’t want to miss a bitter drop of it.

“Can I have him in my arse while I’m in yours?” Weasley wheedled hopefully.

“No damn way, Weasley. I’m not letting you have a single taste of that boy. Not his mouth, his arse, or even his cock.” Potter pushed Draco's head away and started to stand up slowly. “You’re not going to stop begging me to switch her for him if I do. I know you. All faggot, no impulse control.” Harry stood and grabbed at Pansy’s arm and spoke to her angrily. “Bend over the couch right damn now. I need to plow you and I need to come. Now! You little whore, his mouth is too fucking good.” Pansy bent over and he grabbed her arse and spread her cheeks, moving close enough to enter her. “I can’t believe we made it through the whole fucking movie without spewing all over the ceiling.” Then he laughed, finally balls deep in cunt.

“No shit,” Weasley agreed, stepping behind Master Harry and removing the man’s robe. Then he opened his own completely. “We want lube. Spell or potion?”

“Auungh…” Master Harry answered. He was sliding slowly in and out of Pansy, clearly grateful to finally have some relief for his aching cock and balls, but not eager to slam into her before Mr Weasley was deep in Potter’s own arse.

“Fuck it all, Harry, I need to fuck at least as bad as you do. Answer me or take what you get.”

“Fetch my lube!” Potter whined loudly, and Liggy appeared with it instantaneously.

Then she touched Draco's arm and they reappeared in the bathroom. Draco shook his head. He still hated traveling under Liggy’s control, but knew better than to speak. “Shower now,” she growled. “Then I does your hair _right_. You is terrible with the hairs.”

Draco crawled into bed that night, alone, uncertain, and with the softest, shiniest, cleanest hair he’d had in longer than he could remember. She’d trimmed off the bottom three inches of split ends, too.

Ashamed but nonetheless helpless not to, he debated underpants and shift – both and separately – for a long time before deciding that he was stronger than that and sleeping in both. Weasley did not give him orders, and – while he knew he wouldn’t be likely to fight the man off if Weasley _did_ slip in that night – there was no point in looking eager to disobey what had been the last, and definitely contradictory, sort-of-instruction you’d heard from your _true_ Master.

It was far easier to slip into dreams than he would have guessed, and soon he was back in Tilford’s office, bent over a desk and getting solidly fucked by a silent and appreciative Harry Potter.

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He woke to angry voices.

“… you’d try this. What kind of ungrateful guest _are_ you, dammit? I shouldn’t have to set an alarm ward on a _whore’s_ bedroom door, Weasley!”

“You knew I had to try, old friend.” Weasley sounded casual, in contrast to Master Harry’s anger. Something about Weasley’s tone made Draco wish he could hide his face. He knew better though, so instead he lay silently, and as his eyes adjusted he saw their guest slouching comfortably against the doorframe, his shoulder-blade length hair now unbound. Both Weasley and the Master were nude. Master Harry held a wand. Weasley didn’t seem to, but it was too dark to be certain.

“Godammit, Charlie. You’re like a brother to me, you really are. But you’re pushing me too far.” He turned his head toward Draco. “Whore.” Harry snapped at Draco. “Sit up.”

Deeply thankful for the shift he’d chosen to wear, Draco obeyed.

“See that? He knows who he belongs to and he knows whose rules to follow. Stick your arse in the air, whore.”

Draco rolled over and obeyed and someone – hopefully Master Harry – lifted the shift to expose his ugly grey pants.

“He’s even wearing these. But he won’t for long. Because I am going to fuck him in front of you. And I’m not waking Pansy to take care of that erection you’re aiming for, I see you stroking your cock.”

Draco's underwear vanished and he shivered. He tried not to get his hopes up, though. Who knew what would really happen? So far it was just words. He moved the pillow surreptitiously, with his face; and struggled to breathe peacefully. Inhale to the count of seventy-three…

“You invite me to the orgy of the year and you think I won’t indulge? Harry. Come on.”

Ok, that wasn’t going to work. He couldn’t keep track of a number that high right now, and he needed to listen to this. He felt someone climb onto the bed behind him. Only now, at that, did his cock begin to fill and his breathing speed up. He spread his cramped fingers out, fanning them on the sheets.

“Enjoy _this_ then, Charlie. _Watch_ this. I’ll probably come as soon as I get in there. He hasn’t been fucked in _years_.”

The cruel glee in his employer’s voice made Draco shiver with anticipation. It sounded like he was about to get the fuck of his life. He struggled to maintain a calm breathing pattern and rearranged his knees to be a bit more even, which apparently pressed his arse into his Master’s erection, for now he felt it brush against his tingling skin, now there was a hand, now there was a grunted spell and conjured lubricant coated him.

Master Harry started pressing his cockhead into Draco's reluctant, nearly virginal hole, and someone made an odd gasping groan. Weasley? Draco couldn’t even guess anymore as he felt Master’s cock fighting to open him up. It could have been Liggy, for all he cared. The Master, his Master, the _real_ one, was going to fuck him again. Draco felt the Master’s cockhead slip away, and he spread his knees another inch apart and tipped his arse up at what he guessed was a better angle. The Master seemed to find better purchase and then – success! And _fuck_ but that burned. He struggled to remain silent and still so the Master could take him easily. Shove… shove… shove… and finally he could feel the soft, hot skin of Master’s balls brushing his screaming arse.

“Oh, _yeah_ …” Weasley groaned from the doorway. “ _Fuck_ that tight arse for me!”

The sweet, motionless touch of hands and balls lasted only a moment and then the Master had a rhythm and was pounding him like a sledgehammer. It already hurt less and he fought to relax his muscles. He wondered how the Master would want him to react. His untouched erection was already in counterpoint agony to his slowly adjusting arsehole. Other than once that afternoon, at least twelve hours before, he hadn’t orgasmed while awake – or even sought an erection – in… it had surely been some years. Even the pain of being opened up so roughly couldn’t diminish his need to come.

Weasley must have noticed, because he moved toward the bed, hand outstretched, and made to sit down.

“What the bloody… _fuck_ do you… think you’re _doing_?” the Master bellowed, and Draco could not object, because his hole was now finally loose enough for him to fully, physically enjoy the pounding, and anger usually made the Master fuck a whore harder and faster.

“Look at that big stiffy,” Weasley half moaned. “Can’t I suck him off? Damn, I just want to touch him!”

The Master slowed down enough to get a full sentence out without gasping. Master’s cock somehow felt even bigger when it fucked Draco slower and gentler. Draco took a deep breath and concentrated harder on relaxing the muscles in his clenching hole.

“Whore, jerk yourself off! I want to feel you loving my cock in your damn arse! Weasley, get back in the damn doorway and shut the bloody fuck up!”

Weasley hopped away and Draco forgot all about him for the next few, overwhelming minutes. Even somewhat loosened he knew he had to feel _very_ good around the Master’s cock. This would be like fucking a virgin hole, only there was no need to consider Draco. The Master was just thumping into him like a mad dervish, taking what he wanted and grunting and huffing like an athlete.

Draco had moved one elbow down to brace himself and wrapped a hand around his erection in relief. There was nothing in this world like a fuck from the Master. It took him almost no time at all to spray come all over his own face and sheets. It had been a very long time.

Coming felt like forever, and only as he relaxed from his high did he hear the slapping sounds of Weasley jerking off at a furious pace. He almost wished he could open his mouth and take that cock into his mouth, if only to lazily suckle the rosy head and then swallow the man’s come. Nervous about the direction of his desires, he kept his eyes shut. Looking into Weasley’s eyes right now could only be dangerous. He only liked Master Harry angry when the man was angry at someone _else_ ; and when he vented by pumping Draco full of come.

He never again wanted to experience his Master angry at him. Never again.

Chastened by his own thoughts, Draco realized he shouldn’t have come before the Master was ready. He’d been so ecstatic to get fucked again, to get fucked by the _Master_ again, that he’d neglected his duties as a whore. This wasn’t supposed to be about him. He was out of practice.

Thankfully Master wasn’t complaining yet, but – chastened by his own thoughts – Draco tightened his hole as rhythmically as he could: squeeze the Master’s cock as he pressed inward. Relax as the Master pulled out, repeat until… yeah… there it was. Faster breathing, less perfect pattern to the deep thrusts, groans slightly higher pitched, and the Master was filling Draco up with spunk.

Master Harry pulled out. “You can shower,” he grunted as he got off the bed. “And _you_ , he growled toward the doorway, “can remember whose whores they both still are, and whose fucking house this is!” Then Master smacked Draco’s arse cheek and vanished into the hallway.

“Get the fuck out of my whore’s room, Weasley,” he snapped, and Weasley called out, amused and slow, “Of course, your highness.” Then he leaned into Draco's frame of vision and winked. “You,” he laughed, “can thank me later,” and followed Master Harry out of the room.

When Draco returned from his swift shower, his sheets had been changed, his bed made, and a clean, brand new shift laid upon it neatly. There were no underpants, and when Draco pulled the shift over his damp hair, and raised his head toward the small mirror, he nearly exclaimed audibly. He knew it was very dark in the room, but the stupid thing appeared to be cream colored, the perfect shade of nearly white for his skin and hair. More certain, it only fell to his knees.

Wondering again at the phenomenon that was Liggy, and wondering what she meant for his life now that she’d apparently maneuvered Pansy out of the house, he climbed into bed and closed his eyes. He did not remember falling asleep.


	8. Eight

Chapter 8

Draco was awakened by Liggy.

“Time to go be a whore for Master!” she chided. She pulled the blankets off him and poked at his shoulder. “Gets you up and into Master’s room. They is already sexing in theres!”

Rubbing his eyes and dragging his legs out of the bed and over the side of the mattress, Draco moved as slowly as he thought he could get away with. He’d become accustomed to getting nearly nine or so hours of sleep every night for years now, even at the whorehouse. Between staying up later than usual and getting woken for a midnight fuck – he twisted a bit and yes, his arse was definitely sore – he guessed he had only slept around seven. He felt out of sorts.

“The whore will obey!” Liggy yelped, and Draco stood, momentarily confused by the missing bottom of his new shift. Oh. Right. The new shift.

“I apologize, Liggy. Master has asked for my arse? My mouth?”

Liggy grimaced and turned away. Draco stepped toward her, and therefore the door, but listened. Her voice was different today. He wanted to hear it again, to analyze. He also wanted to delay. Weasley unsettled him. That man might be dangerous to Draco's reputation with the Master. He’d rather not enter the room until Weasley had come and wasn’t likely to try to fuck Draco. Draco knew the fuck would likely be excellent, but nonetheless not worth the cost.

Liggy was hesitating, too. He realized his employer probably had not even asked for him.

“Master will tells the whore what to do when the whore is there to be told. Gets your holes in there.”

It was only a few steps to obedience, and Draco took them as slowly as he thought he could get away with. Her voice was definitely different. She wasn’t gloating, she wasn’t triumphant, nor was she angry. But she wasn’t as jumpy anymore, either. She seemed less irritated, more in control. He thought she might have… relaxed somewhat. Not completely, but it still seemed like that was the possibility that would best account for the change. He opened his bedroom door and crept down the hall.

Aware that no one inside was much likely to be expecting him, he hesitated in front of the closed door. Obeying Liggy was important, but obeying his employer was far more crucial. The three of them were fucking very loudly in there, and he knocked as close to silently as he thought he could get away with. Any quieter and Liggy would bellow at him. As it was she glared but passed him by and headed for the kitchen. He thought that confirmed that Liggy’s ‘orders’ were all her own idea, and he stood there waiting.

It wasn’t long before he heard what sounded like completion from behind his employer’s door. Either they were all in a hurry in there, or Liggy’s timing had really been off. Hesitating in the quiet, he waited, but heard only murmurings. Reasonably satisfied that – at least both men were done – he knocked again. Audibly this time.

“Come in, Liggy,” Master called. He sounded quite content.

Draco entered. “Liggy sent me to serve you,” he murmured at the floor, and Weasley laughed.

“Liggy’s too late,” Weasley sighed, stretched out in the huge bed, both hands resting behind his head, his dick shiny and curving over his thigh like a deflating balloon. “We’ve both been fucking, and coming, in Pansy.” He was in the middle, Pansy to the right and Master to the left, closer to Draco. Weasley looked supremely comfortable, self-satisfied, even entitled. Draco felt a brief, astonishing crash of envy.

“Turns out two men can be inside the same cunt at the same time. Not usually being a ladies man, that hadn’t occurred to me. But Harry’s full of great ideas about how I can use these tits and cunt –” he reached into Pansy’s lap and threw the sheet off her to find her lap and – from the look of it – stick a finger in her, but his eyes never left Draco's face “– to wangle so-called straight men into my bed.”

Weasley grinned and tipped his head, his fingers busy inside Pansy, who looked very happy. “Still,” he continued, amused, “I’d love to pop one of Harry’s magic potions and have you suck me off right here. One last chance before I head home.” He smiled broadly at Potter and nodded toward his crotch, now largely covered by Pansy. “Whaddaya say, old buddy? I won’t ask for his sweet arse again, and it’s only his mouth?”

“If you need to fuck a face that bad,” Master groused, already getting out of the bed, “you can fuck Pansy’s. She needs to learn what you like anyway. Quit asking for him.”

“Didn’t your aunt teach you to share your damn toys?” Weasley wheedled. But he was pulling Pansy closer, and she wasn’t pulling away.

“After all this time, don’t you know better than to bring that bitch up?” Master Harry snarled, and he glared at Draco. “You. Naked and in my shower _now_.” Draco rushed to obey, his cock filling in anticipation.

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Draco would have been happy to run for the bathroom door, but that would have meant bowling his Master over. As it was, he followed on his Master’s heels, wasting no time but not actually stepping on the other man. Then he decided to show even more restraint and not remove his shift until the door was closed between the two of them and Mr. Weasley.

Once the two of them were alone he pulled his new, short, cream-colored shift off and hung it on the doorknob. Then he stepped into the enormous bathtub and – making a split second decision – gracefully knelt at the back, away from the shower head. He hoped it looked like he’d just assumed the Master wanted his mouth, like there had never been a question in his mind. He thought after that little display in the bedroom, the Master would want to at least start with a blow job, but one never knew for certain what the Master wanted until he opened his mouth. Pansy certainly always seemed to need Master’s desires spelled out explicitly. Draco had cringed through at least a hundred loudly narrated encounters between those two.

If possible, he’d like to become a toy who knew how to anticipate the Master’s needs, who clearly and accurately read all of the few signals the man actually gave off.

Master seemed completely unaware of Draco's thoughts. He ignored the slave kneeling in his tub just long enough to piss and shake a few drops off the end of his dick. Then he turned on the water and stepped in. He braced his hands on the wall and let the hot water pour over his hair and shoulders. From his position behind Potter and on his knees, Draco caught some of the water. It felt nice, but he longed to reach for the Master’s skin and bring him pleasure. He didn’t dare do a thing without instruction, but his hands felt itchy and his tongue felt dry. Would it really be wrong to reach out and kiss his Master’s beautiful, rounded arse cheek? Could there be anything more subservient?

He swallowed. Of course there could be. He could wait to be told what to do. He ducked his head in shame and felt the water running into his eyes.

The Master began to turn around, to face him, then reached into Draco's wet hair and pulled Draco's mouth toward his flaccid cock.

“Kiss my dick,” the Master said. Draco would have rather taken the entire thing into his mouth, something he had never been able to do unless the Master was truly flaccid, but he obeyed and placed a careful peck on the dangling shaft.

“Talk to my dick,” Master said, and he sounded exhausted. “Tell my dick how you will do anything, anything at all that I want you to do. Tell my dick that it is your entire life. Tell my dick that it’s the only dick for you, forever.” His hands tightened the hair over Draco's ears.

Master stopped talking and Draco reached up, wrapping both hands around his Master’s perfect arse. He felt his own useless cock finish filling. He leaned forward and began to speak softly, addressing the cock and warming to his task.

“So beautiful you are,” he murmured. He licked at the tip and blew on it. “Can’t even tell you,” he took the entire tip in his mouth and then, impulsively, took in the entirety and sucked at it, feeling it grow. But Master yanked at his hair and he released it, speaking words he hoped would satisfy. “Can’t even tell you,” he tried again, “how much I love feeling you pound me,” he licked the head, “stretch me open, knowing you like it,” he kissed the head, “knowing you enjoy fucking my holes.” He caressed the cheeks in his hands and kissed the Master’s cockhead again, seeing how it had grown already.

“There has never been anything you asked of me,” he kissed the shaft, “of my tight, hot arse,” he leaned down just enough to kiss one ball, “or my wet mouth,” he sucked the tip for a moment and let go, “or my hands or face or any part of me,” he took a ball into his mouth for a moment and sucked gently before letting go, “that I was not eager to give you.” He sucked the dick into his mouth and moved up the shaft toward the Master’s belly, and then down, up once again and then off.

“You are my true Master,” he whispered at the penis in his face and felt his balls tighten. “And I am your willing slave. Fuck me, come on me, piss on me, whip me, choke me, hate me, and I will still be here at your feet, joyfully kissing and sucking you. Desperately begging for more.”

“Yeah…” Master Harry sighed. “Exactly. Now suck my dick, whore.” He pulled Draco's hair and Draco opened his mouth and allowed the Master to guide his head completely. Master pulled Draco's head back and forth, but he was gentle and calm. It was not much of a surprise that after that orgiastic weekend, the Master was perfectly willing to just guide his erection into and out of Draco's round wet ‘O’ of a mouth. Draco risked a glance at the Master’s face, and it looked like Master Harry was intent on the visuals of it. Streaming water, loose blond braid in his fists, and the Master’s own erection, now as full and hard as it ever got, sliding in and out of his whore’s obedient face.

Draco cupped his tongue and concentrated on keeping his mouth tight, wet, obedient and unchanging. Master obviously wasn’t pushing toward an orgasm any time soon.

“You don’t have any agenda, do you slave?” Draco shook his head as slightly as he thought would be visible. “Good. Good. You’re going to do whatever I want you to, aren’t you? Hell. You’re going to _want_ whatever I want you to, aren’t you?” Draco agreed again. “No more wheedling for favours, no expensive gifts, and no one else in you. No one else is going to fuck you besides me. Isn’t that right, whore?”

Draco nodded harder this time.

“That’s right,” his employer sighed, “that’s good.” And he shoved his cockhead past Draco's gag reflex and watched the tears come to Draco's eyes. The shower was behind Potter’s back and couldn’t wash much off Draco's face. Master’s watching eyes were impassive, mildly curious, and Draco swallowed over and over around the intrusion in his throat. It had been too long. He was out of practice. He couldn’t breathe.

Master pulled out and Draco inhaled sharply, expecting the head of Master’s dick to penetrate his throat again. “Heh,” Master responded. “Good whore,” and he fucked Draco's throat slowly for a while, allowing Draco to breathe occasionally. Draco felt lightheaded, and he might have been holding onto Master’s arse for assistance more than in adoration now, but he was determined not to pass out or vomit. Master wanted to fuck like this, and his was the throat permitted to surround Harry Potter’s thick, hard cock. He was a lucky man.

“Good whore.” Master sighed again and again as he fucked through Draco's mouth and into his throat. “Good whore. Nice wet, still so tight… ahhh…. Like this obedient silence while I enjoy you.” He slid all the way in and wrapped a hand deeper into Draco's hair, pushing Draco's entire head onto his cock. Draco's mouth was full of cock and pubic hair and he closed his eyes. He would breathe when the Master willed it. “You can stay quiet while I fuck your arse, right?” Draco nodded, a bit frantic this time, and Master laughed quietly again. He sounded so calm and Draco was grateful. Master had been so angry just a few moments ago and now he was happy and relaxed, his dick being serviced as he chose. Such a beautiful dick.

Draco’s vision went a little grey inside his eyelids and he grabbed hold of his Master’s arse in panic.

Master patted his head, letting go of his hair slowly and pulling out of his throat.

“Thank me for the throat fuck, whore.”

“Oh Master,” Draco rasped. “It is an honor to be the one you choose to take. I can only hope you enjoyed fucking me, that you can train me to be what you want in a whore.”

“Nice. A good try. Now stand up and get your damn hole low enough that I can fuck it. If I could shorten you, you know I would.”

Draco sighed and began to scramble up, to turn around and crouch just enough. He had once liked being so tall. Even the Dark Lord himself had been forced to look upwards when he wanted to look Draco in the eye. Now he would shorten him _self_ , if he only could.

“You won’t mind if I slam you really hard, now will you my whore?” The Master was slathering some lube on and Draco braced himself against the wall firmly.

“This slave loves to please your cock,” Draco tried, wondering what sort of responses would finally earn him true praise.

“Of course you do,” the Master agreed, and he sounded almost happy. Then he grabbed Draco's arse with one hand and starting trying to pry open Draco's hole with his cock. “Dammit,” he growled. “I can’t get in. Tip your ugly arse up higher. Relax your fuckhole. I want in.”

Draco did his best to obey but felt Master slide away twice before he finally rammed his cockhead inside. Draco bit his lips closed and worked hard not to gasp. Master didn’t seem to notice, but slammed in a few times, his hipbones hurting Draco's arse.

Then he slowed down. “Yeah, this is what I needed,” he moaned into Draco's back. “Just a hole, an obedient hole for my cock. It’s all I need. Is it really too much to ask that the hole I’m fucking not _whine_? I don’t need Weasley begging for your mouth, I don’t want to hear Pansy wangling for that mother fucking accountant and his big weiner, I just… want… to… fuck… a tight…” he panted and sped up again, using Draco's hips for leverage.

“Auuungh!!” Master slumped into Draco's back. “Yeah, that was good.” He pulled out and stretched. Draco stood up, willing his knees to stop complaining. Then he felt Master reaching around his hips. “Bet you’re hard, aren’t you?”

“Yes sir,” Draco gasped, but the Master was already touching his dick.

“Turn around, I want to see. You dripping?”

“No, sir,” Draco whispered. “I think the shower washed it all off.” He leaned against the back wall and panted slowly. Oh fuck, the Master was just not letting go of Draco’s erection. He wasn’t stroking it, either. “This,” he yanked at Draco's dick once and Draco nearly bent over, “likes it when I fuck you, yeah?” Master looked quite smug.

“Yes, sir,” Draco answered honestly. Then decided to risk some flattery. What the hell, it was true. “Master is a fabulous lay,” he whispered, looking at the water swirling around their feet.

“Excellent!” Master Harry laughed. Then he tugged at Draco's erection and Draco nearly yelped. “Let’s see how long you can keep this, then. Dry off and meet me at the breakfast table. I need to feed those two before I can finally get rid of them.” He slapped Draco's arse as he left the bathroom, naked and dripping.

Draco took a towel and dried himself off completely, being careful with his own dick. Master apparently wanted him hard and eager for a while, so just a little stimulation was better than too much or none. He reached for his shift and stopped. The new, short cream-coloured one was gone. Liggy had replaced it. This one looked more like an ice blue. He slipped it over his head and, on a hunch, checked the mirror. Yes, it turned his eyes a piercing, icy blue. That house elf never stopped.

Shaking his head, he thought about laughing. Then headed for the breakfast table.


	9. Nine

Chapter 9

By the time Draco entered the dining room, breakfast was on the table. Weasley and Pansy had seemingly consumed most of the eggs and over half the bacon. This did not prevent Weasley from whistling at Draco's appearance when he entered the room.

“Looking good there,” he said, and slowly stared Draco first all the way up and then most of the way down, stopping at the embarrassingly prominent tent in the crotch area of Draco's short blue shift. “This already fine breakfast just got a lot tastier. Harry, won’t you have him undo that braid for me before I have to Floo off with the sadly dickless one?”

“Shut up, Charlie,” Master Harry said without emphasis. “And pass the damn eggs.”

Draco sat silently and attempted to pretend he wasn’t actually present, as Mr Weasley’s comments got ever more salacious.

“Wish I could feel that hair sliding all over my chest…. Love the way he eats, that appetite.… Watch him fellate that fork.… Never had a chance to fuck a man that tall, you know. Such a shame if I never do….”

Draco had no difficulty remaining hard. He shifted in his chair a few times and attempted to fade out into a breathing exercise, but eating, and the command to stay erect, made that distracting and difficult.

Finally Master Harry snapped. “Whore!” he commanded, and Pansy and Draco both stared at him. Master Harry looked Draco in the eye. He looked angry and Draco had to breathe, had to remind himself that it was about Weasley, not Draco. “Finish that forkful and then come get your _real_ breakfast. My dick is under the table and I’m not waiting for your mouth any longer.”

Draco swallowed his last bite of potatoes and slipped under the table without even pushing his chair back more than a few inches. He opened the Master’s dressing gown and found that Master Harry was flaccid. The Master spread his legs a bit and Draco scooted closer, legs crossed under the chair, then kissed the Master’s cockhead.

“Do you love my cock?” the Master asked, his voice slightly softened by the table and the distance.

“Yes, sir,” Draco answered, trying not to sound too fervent.

“Then adore it until I tell you to stop,” Master said, and there was a gloating tone in his voice. He spread his legs further and pushed his pelvis toward Draco's face. Pansy moved her feet back, giving Draco more room. He hoped Mr Weasley wouldn’t bother him, but the man was behind him and there wasn’t much he could do to prevent Weasley from being a jerk except not spread out. Luckily the table was fairly large. Draco scooted his arse a bit closer to his employer’s chair again, and then petted Master Harry’s thighs and took one testicle into his mouth.

“That’s very nice, my little whore,” the Master said, finally sounding relaxed and in control once again. He was mostly hard now and Draco smiled slightly to see it. “I do like when you suck my balls.”

“You’re a bloody awful tease, Harry old friend.” The plates and silverware made noises above him and Draco felt the top of his head pressing uncomfortably into the bottom of the heavy wooden table. At least it had four legs, and all sat at the very corner. Draco's memory flashed back to the breakfast table at Malfoy Manor, which was round with a center pedestal. He breathed hot air onto the Master’s cock and balls and then licked slowly up the side of the Master’s erection.

“No, Charlie,” Master Harry said very slowly. “I’m not. I’m a profoundly generous host.”

Draco kissed the Master’s dick and took a gentle grip on the shaft.

“After all, for no damn good reason except our long-standing friendship – a friendship that stretches back enough years that I have cut you an enormous amount of slack – I am granting you three of the five very nice fuck holes I own.”

Draco slowly stroked the Master’s dick up and down, a gentle touch, not moving the skin over the shaft but just enjoying the velvet of it. A tiny bead of pre-come appeared at the tip and Draco licked it into his own mouth.

“I could have decided to keep her. I could have decided to give her to a straight man. Your brother Fred certainly comes to mind. I love _him_ like a brother too. I could have decided I didn’t want to invite you over for the weekend at all.”

Mr Weasley made a noise but everyone ignored him.

“That’s very good, whore. Stroke my dick and lick the head. Nice and slow.” Master shifted in his chair and Draco stroked one thigh while licking at the tip of the cock in his face.

“I like the way you love my cock. Just keep loving it and I’ll have plenty of time to fuck you with it later. Once Pansy leaves with our guest I will be enjoying your obedience all day. You’ll like that, won’t you?”

“Mmm,” Draco murmured as loudly as he thought was necessary to be audible at the other end of the table, and went back to caressing the shaft and licking the moist head of his Master’s dick.

“The toy under the table, you see? He knows his place. Suck my balls, toy.” Draco hummed as he took the other testicle into his mouth very gently. He was so hard now that he could feel his cock bouncing the rhythm of his pulse. The damp spot at the front of his shift was growing as well.

“Damn, Harry, I’m as hard as a rock. Pansy, why don’t you climb under the table and I’ll fuck your mouth? It won’t take long. Especially if Harry keeps talking.”

“No. Stay in your chair, Pansy. I’m sure your new Master – once he actually becomes your new Master, that is – is going to have you getting busy showing off your beautiful tits and peach-round arse as soon as he gets you home to Romania. You are going to need to eat up this morning so you have the strength to withstand anything those dragon tamers can do to you, even a big ole gang bang. So you eat and let Master Charlie there wait. He can fuck your mouth when he gets you home.”

Draco’s erection throbbed and he worked to control his breathing. It almost always helped him calm down.

“Perhaps you’ll choose to fuck her in the dining hall, Charlie. Doesn’t the main Floo land there? If you time it right I expect you can show up there in the middle of lunchtime and just open your fly, push her to the floor, and let her relieve this building tension for you right there in front of all those other men. That ought to set exactly the right tone for her stay.”

“Master…” Pansy murmured, and Draco wasn’t sure if she was disapproving, scared or turned on. He licked another tiny drop of pre-come from Master’s slit.

“Liggy,” Master called, and shifted his hips forward slightly, pushing a bit more of his erection into Draco's mouth.

“Master has called,” she responded immediately. His employer pulled away, sitting back further in his chair, so Draco let go of Master’s cockhead, leaned his head on his employer’s thigh and caressed his Master’s erection slowly.

“Are their things all packed and next to the fireplace yet?”

“Mr Weasley’s all is, sir,” Liggy answered. “But I’z didn’t sure what the other would wears for journey. You had said it important and I’z did not know or wants to presume….”

“Such a good servant you are,” Master Harry praised. Draco could see her stand taller even though she was only visible from the middle of her chest and below.

“Pansy, you’re done eating now. Take off that shift and let’s decide what you are going to wear to your new life. Really need to make a good first impression, now don’t you? Whore, crawl out from under the table and come along. You’ve gotten my cock all wet and I don’t want it to get cold.”

Soon the four others were standing in front of Pansy’s closet. Pansy was trying on everything she owned, Liggy was shortening hems and tightening waists and adding lace panels, Mr Weasley was making grumpy sounds and masturbating openly, and Master Harry was slowly, oh so slowly, sliding his cock in and out of Draco's mouth. Draco sat on the floor, legs spread out in a great ‘vee’ around his Master’s feet, his back pressed up against the side of the tall bed Pansy had almost never slept in.

Draco couldn’t see what Pansy was doing, and she was barely speaking, but he knew she was striving, with every ounce of feminine charm and Slytherin guile that she had, to get Master Harry’s cock – and come – into her pussy (or her arse or mouth probably would have served) just one last time.

It wasn’t working.

Draco caressed the Master’s strong legs and tight arse while the Master enjoyed Draco's face. The Master was really only teasing himself at this point. Every once in a while he would pull his cock from Draco's lips just enough to pointedly check that Draco's erection was still prominent and dripping.

It always was.

Draco himself was horribly distracted by the desire to come, but Master had experienced so many orgasms in the last three days, he could obviously just enjoy a slow tease. Especially since it was obviously driving both Pansy and Mr Weasley round the twist.

They finally arrived at the last item in Pansy’s considerable wardrobe, and Weasley snorted.

“Good thing you own so much clothing, girl. I wouldn’t have been buying you anything, anyway, but at least we both know you won’t be needing me to. Now can we Floo the hell home? If I don’t come soon I’m going to break something internal.”

“Of course,” Master Harry smirked. He carelessly snagged up a coral silk minidress and Pansy slipped it on over bare skin. It was really more lingerie than dress. Liggy put everything else into a large bag and then _shrank_ it.

Master headed through the bedroom door after Mr Weasley and Pansy. “Come along, whore.” Draco got to his feet and followed the rest to the fireplace.

Pansy didn’t even ask. With her strappy, impossibly high heeled shoes bringing her closer to Master Harry’s mouth, she stepped right up to the man and pressed her tits into his chest. “I require a kiss goodbye,” she declared, and Master Harry bent his head and opened his mouth upon hers. Her minidress rose even higher as she wrapped her arms around his neck and wove both hands into the Master’s thick black hair. When the Master reached for her arse he met nothing but firm, warm skin, and – from the way he grabbed her smooth, bubble-curved arse cheeks and pushed her body even closer to his own, he still enjoyed the feel of her.

The Master let go of half of Pansy’s arse and grabbed one tit, then stopped kissing her. “Don’t talk, dear,” he said in the most patronizing tone Draco had ever heard him use. “Don’t let’s ruin it.”

He turned Pansy around and rubbed his erection into the dainty cleft at the very top of her arse cheeks. Both hands on her tits, he squeezed and stroked them while looking Mr Weasley up and down. “Charlie, you’ve whined a lot, but I know you’re going to be glad of my little gift. You’ll have to force her to exercise if you want her to continue to look like this, but it’s never difficult to get her to suck a cock, or – really – make the most of any dick any man shoves into her. She was obviously made to whore.”

Weasley nodded and stole a glance at Draco. Draco looked at the floor.

“The paperwork will come by owl when her sentence is over, so you don’t have to worry about any of that.”

Pansy began to rise up on her toes a bit more and then sink down, rubbing the Master’s cock a bit deeper into the cleft of her arse. The leaking tip was dampening the silk of her minidress. The Master made no move to bury his cock in any of her holes, though, and then he let go of her tits and pushed her firmly toward the fireplace.

“You can write if you wish, Pansy, I’d enjoy hearing about your new life, if your hands are ever free.” He gave a short bark of a laugh. Pansy looked at Master Harry and nodded slowly. He smirked and waved at the fireplace. Liggy sent the bags through and then Mr Weasley grabbed Pansy’s hand to pull her through the Floo. Pansy looked from Master Harry to Master Charlie, and left her eyes on her new Master’s shoulders. Weasley turned toward the fireplace then turned away again. Still holding Pansy’s right hand in his left, Mr Weasley reached out to shake Master Harry’s right hand with his own.

“I’ve been a bit of a tit and I know it, Harry. I apologize.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Master Harry nodded.

Mr Weasley continued. “Never had a stranger weekend in my life, but I am sure you are right about this tart being the best bit of straight-man arse-bait I could ever find. Not even with a huge Gringotts vault of the sort that not many a dragon tamer holds in reserve. So I thank you for that, and I expect I’ll be writing you with even more thanks once your idea comes true.” Mr Weasley took a deep breath and then spoke up again. “And you’re a lucky man to have a gorgeous blond piece of arse at your beck and call like you do, here. I envy you, and I’m sorry I pushed so hard.”

Master Harry shook Mr Weasley’s hand even more firmly at that and smiled a real, relaxed smile for the first time in days. “You’re welcome, old friend,” he said, and Draco believed he meant it. “See you for Christmas at your Mum and Dad’s place?”

“Nearly three months away? I’m going to hold you to that!” Mr Weasley laughed, and turned once more to the fireplace. “Romanian dragon preserve,” he called, and threw in the powder. The fireplace glowed bright green and flashed as the two people stepped in and vanished, spinning away into nothing.

The last thing Draco saw were Pansy’s enormous, uncertain eyes.


	10. Ten

“I can’t believe I ever thought I would write a single word today,” Draco's Master sighed. He was looking toward – or perhaps it was more ‘through’ – the landscape on the wall. “It is clearly time for us to get reacquainted. Undo that braid so I can feel your hair on me. Today I’m going to fuck you so many times and so many ways, you’re probably going to bleed.” He sighed again and Draco thought his attitude seemed odd. He’d been so agitated and smug just a moment ago. Now he sounded tired. He was talking about sex like it was a chore.

“Don’t take it personally. I clearly should have just shipped Pansy to Romania in a mother fucking _box_.”

Bothered by his employer’s tone, Draco took a deep breath and risked it. “Every part of me is yours, Master.” Potter looked up sharply. Nervous, Draco backpedaled. “I’m here to be enjoyed.”

“Too fucking right,” Potter sighed again. “Too damn right. I don’t even know anymore why I’ve been ignoring you all this time. Your arse was so tight last night it actually hurt my cock, until your damn body remembered me and behaved.” He turned and began to walk toward his bedroom.

“Liggy! Is my bed clean yet?”

“Master _does_ have a very big cock,” Draco ventured. And Master flashed a distracted smile over his shoulder. Liggy appeared in front of him nervously wringing her hands, but their Master ignored her.

“There you go!” Master encouraged Draco, half smiling, pointing a finger toward Draco's chin. “That was a little clumsy, but of course, you _are_ out of practice. We’ll have you talking like a professional fuck in no time.”

Then he turned back to Liggy, now pulling nervously at an ear. “Obviously you haven’t cleaned my bedroom yet. Don’t worry about it, I know you had to make breakfast and I’m sure you’re still cleaning that up. I took back your kitchen assistant.”

Liggy’s nervous action turned the corner toward self-punishment. Draco winced as she viciously twisted her ear, swallowing her own resulting whimper.

“Quit fretting, dammit! I’ll fuck the whore in _his_ room first. It’s the fuck I care about, not where.” He paused and stared down the hall briefly. There was another framed landscape there, a peaceful meadow. But again, Draco thought his employer wasn’t really aware of anything except his own thoughts.

“On second thought, though, you do have special instructions today.” Master was looking at Liggy again. Draco knew just by the way she’d begun to relax her hands and perked up her huge leathery ears. The left one still drooped down. Draco wondered if she had damaged it.

“First you need to replenish my supply of that special stuff I use to get it up whenever the hell I want.” Master Harry leaned against the wall and started ticking thoughts off on his fingers. “You can stick with regular strength for now. And I’ll need at least twenty full vials. No… you know what? Make it thirty, if you can. I want this batch to last me a while, so visit as many apothecaries as you need. And – oh fuck, more lube, of course. Nothing but that one brand I like… uhh, _Magical Mystical Pleasure_ , I think it’s called. Grab one of the empties before you go in case I have the name wrong. But get unscented this time! Then when you get back all I want you to concentrate on today is cleaning up after us.” He jabbed a finger back toward Draco without looking. “As soon as we leave a room get it ready for us to return at a moment’s notice. I want the whole house to be available at any time, all day, so I can fuck him anywhere I like.”

Master Harry straightened up and moved away from the wall, then stopped before he’d taken another step. “Oh!” he continued, sounding slightly surprised, “and about feeding us, put something out in every room under preservation charms. I want a lot of protein, lots of energy today. Not real meals, just snacks. Stuff I can reach over and grab, like… er… cheese. Set out three or four kinds of cheese. Plus bread or crackers or something like that. Some almonds and pecans. And those little sausage snacks I like. Maybe… fruit? Berries would be good. Will you have to go food shopping, too?”

Liggy nodded her head, smiling. Draco could see she no longer looked at all fussed. She was in full servant mode, now. Drinking in her instructions and pleased to do her Master’s bidding.

“Good, that’s fine.” Master smiled. “I plan to fuck him all damn day, Liggy. I’m not going to write, or care about the mail or the phone, nothing. Lock the Floo, too, would you? Should have thought of that before. Today is just about my cock. Oh, pick up some healing creams for my dick at an apothecary, too. I’m going hurt myself soon, if I don’t take precautions.” Harry looked over at Draco and smirked. “Hurting you is pretty inevitable, of course.”

Draco nodded. He could live with that.

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Master didn’t feel the need to cast a healing charm at Draco's arsehole until shortly after three in the afternoon. Draco wondered if that was the sort of thing that should make a whore feel self-satisfied.

He fell asleep exhausted at ten, his now very tangled hair still unbraided, the Master’s softening dick only just beginning to slip out of his red, tender, arsehole; the Master’s arm thrown casually, possessively, over Draco's back and shoulder.

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Now that Pansy was gone Draco wondered how he should behave, how to carry himself, what to volunteer and what to hold back in his Master’s presence – at least when not gifted with direct instructions. But Liggy woke him the next morning with a meaningful glare, and so – gathering his unruly hair behind his head – he obediently rolled over and began his employer’s customary morning wake-up call via the soft wet mouth of the Master’s – now singular – resident whore.

Draco had forced himself to forget how much he loved doing this. All of it. Asleep, his employer was warm and affectionate. Draco was never cold in the Master’s bed, even though he always slept nude there and always needed clothing to sleep in ‘his’ bed. Liggy had once reminded Master Harry that he didn’t like to sleep alone, but Draco had never doubted that.

Master Harry always slept in the nude as well, and he was a cuddler. Master loved to wrap his chest and arms around Draco's back, and more than once during Draco’s first stay at The Hideaway, he had awakened Draco in the middle of the night by simply sliding his erection right into his whore’s still-lubricated arse. Considering the sleeping positions he favoured for them, it was easy. Draco doubted that the Master was even fully awake for the beginning of most of those midnight fucks.

So it was no surprise that while waking up with his stiffening dick in a whore’s talented and obedient mouth, the Master would usually closely curl his body around the head at his crotch, hold onto his whore’s long hair, wrap a leg around Draco's shoulder or back, and slowly fuck the mouth that was loving him awake.

Master was at his least forceful – his most pliable and most easily pleased – during the morning blow job. He cooed sometimes. He hummed and praised, and though his speech was rarely coherent, his tone more than adequately communicated his intent. And when the blow job was particularly good, he would often orgasm, and finish the cycle into wakefulness, with a shout. “Panse!” He yelled out this morning. “Ahhh… Panse….” And then Draco's employer looked down his own body, smiling sleepily toward his cock and the face that still embraced it, and realized that he’d not ejaculated in Pansy’s mouth at all, but rather Draco’s.

“Oh,” he said. “Right. Er, nice job.” Master Harry began to back away and Draco stayed where he was, wound into a small ‘c.’ His tired, bitter-filled mouth waiting obediently at the centre of his Master’s large bed.

“You sleep,” Master offered, and he looked something a little like what Draco would have called nervous. His movements had gone jerky and quick, like he felt self-conscious. Master scratched at his own balls and then – apparently uncaring – scratched at his head with the same hand. “I’m, er, going to exercise alone today. Want to get more serious about staying in shape. So you, er, stay right there. Liggy will wake you for breakfast in an hour or so.”

“Master won’t desire a fuck while showering?” Draco ventured.

Master was already in the doorway and didn’t bother to turn around. “No, no,” he replied. “Just you… stay. Right where you are.”

Draco uncurled and headed for the pillow. Then he sighed, and tried to relax into sleep. Inhale to the count of seventy-three….

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Draco woke suddenly, knowing he had slept again only because some very vague pictures of a Hogwarts corridor and a laughing painting were slipping away from his mind as he opened his eyes to see Liggy. She placed a strange sandwich on the bedside table. Draco stared at it blearily. It was made from a sliced crumpet with a fried egg, a slice of crisp bacon – cut in half once and all four ends sticking out, and a slice of Harry’s favourite cheddar melting over them both. It smelled marvelous. Liggy snapped her fingers at him and he looked at her.

“Master want you there, but not want see you. So eat your foods, brushes your teeth, then go sit unders the table.” She looked into his eyes until he finally nodded at her and picked up the breakfast sandwich. “Goods,” she intoned, sounding quite satisfied. “Goods.”

Draco ate his sandwich and slipped on the shift he found waiting tumbled at the end of the bed. This one was pale peach and Draco stared at it for a long, astonished second before he remembered himself and pulled it over his head and pulled his long hair out.

But when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he entered the bathroom to brush his teeth, he stopped just long enough to confirm that Liggy was a genius with colour.

His employer did not take his face out of the newspaper until Draco was all the way under the table, and did not see Draco in the shift until long after he came in Draco's mouth.

Draco's blow job did induce Master Harry to put the _Daily Prophet_ down, at least. It fluttered to the floor as Draco was pulling his employer’s second testicle into his mouth.

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For several days Draco hung back, not going to his employer unless Liggy pushed or he heard Potter call for him. But eventually the man seemed comfortable enough that they would necessarily return to the roles he’d assigned the first time Draco came to whore for him. So Draco woke in his employer’s bed every morning, sat at his employer’s feet as the man worked in his office, exercised with him, showered with him, ate with him, lay underneath him, speared with cock.

Draco held his breath.

But nothing was different, nothing was wrong, nothing was painful. There was distance between the two men of course; undeniable, unbreakable, un-closeable. But Draco was Harry Potter’s whore again. His only whore. Draco was the two holes his Master ejaculated into with fury, passion and joy. And Draco knew he could live with that for as long as his sentence lasted. There was no point, no reason, to even consider beyond.

He dared think himself happy.


	11. Eleven

“Oh, look!” Draco looked up from the novel he was reading. He was sitting lotus style on the floor, as was his new habit. Now that Pansy was gone, had been gone nearly a month, Master seemed to prefer him to sit there. Not that he’d said this, exactly, but….

His employer was laughing and petting a beautiful owl. “Liggy! Owl treats! We got a letter from Pansy. Oh, this is perfect.” Master began to read through the letter, muttering occasional phrases quietly as they struck him. As though he wanted to share, but not with those actually available. Liggy fed the owl and stood there obediently; Master giving a clear impression of wanting attention. Draco folded the book closed, a finger holding his place, and leaned against the chair he was in front of.

Eventually, Master Harry began to read aloud. “‘Because I know you,’ heh. She knows my cock, that’s what she knows… ‘I’ll start with the way my new Master pushed me down to my knees right in that big dining room filled with men, and pressed his cock in between my lips. He’s got a great cock and I’m really enjoying it, by the way. Even though obviously I will always pine for yours. Secretly, of course. Oh so secretly.’”

Master stopped reading and looked toward Draco, though he didn’t make eye contact. He looked a thousand miles away. “Heh. Little bitch still knows how to flirt, even on paper, eh whore?”

Draco's employer didn’t drift away from the letter for long. As eager as he’d been to get rid of Pansy, and as angry as he’d seemed to be at her when she left, Draco was a bit surprised by the Master’s delight in the letter.

“Then she says ‘I didn’t suck him till he came, though. I felt his balls tighten and his thighs stiffen up, and then he yanked his dick out of my wet mouth and came all over my face.’ Mm… fucked her gob in front of the bloody lunch crowd… damn. Wish I could have watched that….”

Master shifted in his seat. He looked uncomfortable now, but left his growing erection alone.

“Hell, Charlie is a lot more compassionate than… listen to this! ‘Charlie didn’t start by pushing me down to the floor for the blow job, though. We emerged from the Floo and he put an arm around my neck and just stroked my breast through that little ‘ _dress_ ’ until every eye in the room was on his hand and my nipples. Which were completely erect by then, of course! Then he told the men that I was his dear old ‘ _friend_ ,’ and I was there to hunt for a husband! That in exchange for room and board and the right to sleep in my ‘ _old friend_ ’ Charlie’s warm bed, I was in Romania to find a pureblood with a good job and a nice dick!’”

Master Harry started laughing and Draco looked at Liggy. He wondered if she’d be angered, but no emotion showed except her customary eagerness to please.

“She says ‘I couldn’t believe any of them would fall for such an idiotic story, but after a day or two I understood most of them hadn’t heard much. Even now, all they seem to know is that if they are nice to me (and even nicer to old Charlie, haha!) then they get to fuck my mouth and maybe even my pussy. And so far…’”

Master rustled the paper and read silently for a moment, and one of his hands finally dropped from the letter to his bulging crotch.

“Oh fuck, yeah. Charlie’s convinced… two of them already. See this?” He waved the letter in the air as though Liggy and Draco would be able to read some that way. “Two tamers have already let Charlie fuck them up the arse _while_ they fucked my cunt.’ And she thinks….” Master paused and read further. “She thinks Charlie’s got another two on the hook already.”

“She says ‘I get so much positive attention from all these hot men. You were right. They _all_ want to fuck me. During meals, which we always take in the dining hall so they don’t forget to want me, I have to sit in Charlie’s lap or they won’t stop grabbing my tits.’ Hah! Fuck, I can just picture it.”

He leaned his head back against his reading chair and closed his eyes, the letter on his lap, visibly tented now. “Merlin's balls, can’t you just imagine her riding his cock, pretty as you please, while they both eat their fucking goulash? Mm, keeping him hard so he can bend some stupid pretty-boy over the table while the boy is buried up to his own balls in Pansy’s cunt and Charlie’s come…”

Only then did Master unzip his denims and reach in for his hard-on. Draco wondered when he’d be called on to pleasure it, but Master didn’t seem to be done with the letter yet.

“She says she’s never felt hotter.” Master’s erection was at its fullest now, getting rosier and damp. Master was stroking it faster as he read. “All the men want her, she’s a fucking celebrity. Fuck, I have to fuck something tight. Now. Get over here, whore.” Master stood and winced. “No, fuck that. I’m having your arse properly. In bed. Liggy? Delay dinner half an hour.” He looked Draco up and down as Draco finished standing. “No,” he continued. “Delay dinner an hour. I’m going to need a shower, too.” He stripped off his denims and pants and headed for the bedroom, his erection leading the way.

Draco hurried to follow.

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Draco was sitting cross legged on his old bed one afternoon, hair loosely braided (his own preference and his own work – this kept it out of his eyes and mouth, but was still loose enough not to give him a headache) attempting yet again to meditate. It was far too cold today to meditate outside, though if he could sneak a large enough blanket out with him he still loved to sit on the bench to watch the stream, even half choked with ice.

His employer was out of the house today, meeting with his publisher. Those meetings never went well, and Draco wanted to be as calm as possible when the man returned in what was sure to be an agitated state.

Perhaps he’d finally achieved some measure of success with it, because he had no idea how much time had passed when he heard a scoffing noise from the doorway and opened his eyes.

“Merlin's bloody balls,” his Master laughed. “You’re actually… _meditating_ , aren’t you?” He shifted from one foot to the other, now resting all his weight on the doorframe and his left foot, and pressing the toe of his right into the carpet. His arms were crossed over his broad chest and Draco wondered what about this scene would prompt the man to work so hard to look casual and relaxed.

Draco nodded once, slowly, and his eyes flicked to the back cover of the meditation manual that had fallen closed at some point after he’d shut his eyes.

“I bought the damn book, of course I recognize it. I’d tell you to quit because it’s a complete waste of time, but I suppose time is about all you have right now, isn’t it?” His smile was sharp and Draco wondered why – and when – his employer had become angry.

“That stuff is all a load of New Age tripe, whore. If I hadn’t filled this place with more than enough bookshelves I’d have thrown them all out years ago. It doesn’t work. That’s why there are so many. I kept trying different versions, hoping to find something that would actually….” He trailed off and stared at the floor briefly, looking blank. Then he sneered at Draco and pointed at the book. “It’s bullshit. But you can do whatever you want with your spare time, when I don’t need you. Only right now? I need you. So crawl over here on your hands and knees and suck my dick.”

The Master smiled again, with teeth, and Draco slid off the bed onto his hands and knees. So the Master bought all those Buddhist books for himself, now did he? Wanting something he couldn’t find, looking for quite a while before he gave up. That was interesting.

He reached his Master’s feet and sat, reaching for the buttons to access the already hardening cock he was eager to suck.

He should have known, really. Who else would have bought the books on the Master’s shelves? The man had so few friends.

Master’s cock was completely hard before Draco could even finish fishing it out of his unfastened trousers. He opened his mouth and took the head into his lips, caressing Master’s heavy balls with a hand as he teased at Master’s head with his tongue. Anger did tend to get his employer erect. He inhaled, turned his head to the side, and braced himself when Master shifted his feet. Inside his own head, he praised himself for his foresight as the Master pressed forward. Toward, and then past, Draco's swallow reflex.

His eyes didn’t even water as he allowed himself to swallow convulsively around the last inch or so of the Master’s erection. Once he’d remembered about turning his head sideways, deep throating had again become relatively easy.

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“Hm…” his employer hummed as he went through the daily owls. “Charlie doesn’t want to leave Pansy at the dragon preserve over his Christmas holiday. Makes sense….”

“Shoulds I makes up the spare bedrooms?” Liggy wondered from the corner where she’d been _Vanishing_ dust only she could see.

“I… I’m not sure yet, Liggy. The last time those two were here….” He shuddered slightly. “And I definitely don’t want her here without him.” Master looked sharply at Draco but Draco's expression was already blank and he easily kept it that way. “It would be a lot to ask of Molly and Arthur to keep a whore in their home, but… well, but Arthur… and of course Fred and George…” Master stared into space briefly.

The he stood and headed for his large, cheerful hearth. He threw in a handful of powder and the flames turned green. “Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, back office!” Then he knelt down and waited. “Hello? Fred? George? Can someone come to the Floo?”

Draco heard a door open on the other side of the connection and a red head appeared in the green flames. Sitting on the floor, Draco could nearly have looked right into the eyes of whichever twin had answered the Floo. But the man didn’t turn and Draco listened, curious.

“Well happy Christmas, Harry! What a pleasant surprise!”

Master now sat cross legged in front of the fireplace. He looked unusually relaxed. “Happy Christmas, George! I trust things are going well at the shop?”

“It’s turning out to be an excellent season, I’m happy to report to my primary investor! Really can’t complain. Course, Fred does anyway! Will you be spending Christmas with the family? You know mum will pitch a right fit if you don’t come.” Weasley winked and Draco's employer laughed.

“Of course, George. I couldn’t disappoint Molly! I’ll be there almost all day. I hear Ginny’s bringing her American fiancé this year. I couldn’t miss that! The bloke’s sure to have a perfectly indecipherable accent. Did he actually grow up in Memphis?”

George Weasley looked up briefly, thinking. “Not Memphis… uhh… somewhere in Tennessee, though. Little Rock? We’ll drill him, don’t worry.” He winked. “Fred and I are coming up with new Elvis jokes every day.”

Master laughed and Weasley smiled at him, just watching. Draco wondered what that was about. Then Weasley’s smile lowered and evened out, hiding his teeth. “Sadly, things are actually pretty busy out there right now.”He shook his head slightly to show his regret. “Did you need something?”

“Well yes, as it happens. I hope this isn’t an imposition… but, did Charlie tell you about Pansy?”

“Oh, sure. Fred was pissed, too! He would have liked a little of that action!”

Master laughed, his head falling backwards just a little. “Fred fucked that bitch plenty of times. He was already bored with her! Anyway, Charlie’s owled. He’s hinting he wants to stay here through Christmas with her, but the last time he was here I nearly brained him. He was insufferable!”

George shook his head and snickered. “Wouldn’t stop angling for the tall blond arse, huh?”

Master smiled widely as he nodded.

Weasley laughed with delight. “Do I know my own brother or what? Yeah, stupid Charlie. He’s always had a thing for blonds. I don’t blame you for not wanting him there again. The man’s as bone headed as a damn dragon. There’s a reason he likes working with those stupid beasts! No fears, Harry my man. I’ll owl Charlie straight away and invite him and the little tart to sleep here. Fred will be thrilled. He’ll start brewing up some lube before I even get the letter on the owl.”

Master relaxed further, scratching distractedly at the nape of his neck. “Fred loves to fuck a tight arse, doesn’t he? Merlin, you’d think he was a faggot! All right, George, that’s really helpful. Thanks so much.”

“Happy to do it, Harry. Happy to! And don’t be such a fucking stranger, eh mate? Now that you can’t invite Fred over to fuck your little bitch we never seem to see you! It’s like all you wanted from us was another pussy-loving cock!”

Master’s spine went rigid and he leaned away from the fireplace as his voice got slightly deeper. “Oh no, George. Of course it’s nothing like that. Nothing at all. I’d love to see you, both. Liggy and I will look at my calendar. I’ll make sure to owl you. I would love to see you. Of course I would. But I’m ridiculously busy these days with this new book, of course. You know how it is. I am sorry, but you know how it is. And I really ought to go now.” He’d moved even further away and Draco saw George’s shoulders droop slightly.

“Of course, Harry. Of course. I look forward to your owl.” He moved away from the fire a bit, as though to close the connection, then reached for Harry suddenly. “Hey,” he said quietly. “It isn’t about sex, you know? I don’t need to fuck you. Or him, either. Please do owl. For real.”

Master nodded stiffly and Draco saw him duck his head away from Weasley. The fire went hot, red and orange again and Master stared at the floor for a long heartbeat. Then he sighed.

“Come suck my cock, whore,” he sighed. And Draco crawled over, wondering at how tired his Master suddenly sounded.


	12. Twelve

Chapter 12

Now that he wasn’t constantly fleeing even a remote possibility of being forced to watch his Master fuck Pansy, Draco could have stayed out of the garden completely, but he missed the brook. His small new shifts, however, while definitely working to attract Master’s sexual interest, were not well suited for the out of doors. If he tried to sit on the bench, his arse and balls made contact with the freezing stone and his feet froze in the damp, cold grass. For a while he could bring the blanket off his bed, if he was circumspect, until the day in early February when Liggy suddenly pitched a massive fit and that was the end of that.

After the blanket was declared off-limits he tried to bring a towel outside with him once, but Liggy waited until Master was out before screaming at him for ten minutes about what a selfish whore he was for ruining the Master’s seventh best towel, stepping above his station, and making more work for her.

But he couldn’t stay away from the brook, even if he couldn’t sit on the bench anymore. One day in early spring, he returned to the house from a stroll through the wakening garden, and Master noticed him. “You…” Master began. He stared at Draco's wet feet. “You have no shoes, do you?”

Draco shook his head very slightly, staring at the floor.

“And… hey, that bench is stone. It must be cold. That’s why you never sit there any more. Come here.”

Draco stepped closer to the Master, who reached under Draco's shift and found his freezing cold arse cheek.

“Hoo!” Master exclaimed, laughing. He left his hand on Draco's arse and stroked it firmly, pulling Draco closer. “Let’s go fuck in the shower. That will warm you up and satisfy my cock. Wait. Kiss us first.”

Draco froze. Where was he meant to…?

“Go on,” Master continued, angered by Draco’s hesitation. “On your knees.”

Relieved to know what was expected of him, Draco sank to his knees immediately and kissed the Master’s dick through the fabric of his clothes.

“Yeah…,” Master released in a sigh. “Now, just lick me and kiss me until I get hard.”

Draco obeyed, reaching up to pull his employer’s track bottoms down over his hips. Once the clothes were on the floor, the two men got them off the Master’s feet while Draco still managed to kiss and lick clumsily at the head of his employer’s increasing erection. Sometimes being a lot taller than his employer was helpful.

“I will never get tired of looking down and seeing you worshipping my cock, you know that? Take your braid out now. I want to see all that hair floating all over.” Draco obeyed swiftly, leaving the elastic on the carpet.

“All right. Get off the damn floor. I plan to fuck your arse until we run out of hot water or until you start to cry. You know, whichever comes first.”

Draco stood and began to walk toward his Master’s ensuite. He heard “Stop!” and obeyed, nervous. Master stepped closer and inefficiently shoved most of Draco's hair around to the front, then pressed his erection under Draco's arse. Then he reached around Draco's arse, to his hip, to find Draco's filling cock. Slowly, he fucked at the juncture of Draco’s arse, balls and thighs while he carelessly stroked at Draco's cock. It rapidly finished filling.

“Why are you hard?” Master murmured into Draco's shoulder. “You were already getting hard before I grabbed your little dick. Why?”

“Antici… pation, sir.” Draco managed, pressing his palms to the walls of the corridor so he wouldn’t sway or crumple. Master Harry was stroking his cock and fucking his cleft. And talking right into his shoulder. Draco thought he might come.

“You like getting fucked, then?” Master Harry asked quietly.

Draco easily answered with complete honesty. “When it is you, sir. Yes. Do you wish to fuck me here in the hall?”

“I like your attitude, whore,” Master crooned, soft into Draco's spine.

“Thank you, sir,” Draco breathed, uncertain if he’d been loud enough to be heard.

“Continue walking to my bed, then. I’ll be right behind you. I am not to lose contact with your arse. Do you understand?” His hand was still loosely wrapped around Draco's erection, as though he’d stopped actively thinking about it but liked having it in his hand nonetheless.

“Yes, sir,” Draco answered, and took a step forward. They limped slowly and awkwardly to the Master’s room, where Master Harry pulled Draco's shift up and together they pulled it off his head. Then Master removed his own shirt while occasionally remembering to push his cock back and forth in Draco's now rather damp cleft. Draco's erection felt cold, now that no one was holding it. Master might be short, but he had large hands. Draco found them erotic all by themselves.

“Shower,” Master commanded, and Draco and his employer continued their ridiculous shuffle toward the bathroom. Once they both stood by the large bathtub, Draco felt a hand press his back, and he bent over and turned on the hot water, and then the shower. His hair fell all around his face and he wished yet again he could cut it off.

“Mm,” he heard his employer mumble appreciatively, and he did not straighten his back. “Good. I left lube right here.” Draco heard the glopping noise of the lube, and felt the prod of a cock at his arsehole. “Into the tub, whore,” Master murmured softly, and Draco obeyed.

The water was extremely hot, but that was the way his Master always preferred it. Draco did not, especially when chilled. His skin already felt slightly burnt. He braced his hands against the back wall, furthest from the spray of the shower, and bent his knees a bit, fairly sure he’d reached the proper height and position.

“Mm,” Master hummed again, just loud enough to be heard over the water. “Such an obedient whore. Such an eager slut for my cock.” He shoved his cock deep into Draco's arse and fucked in and out a few times, gripping ever harder onto Draco's wet hips. “This can’t be nice for your knees,” he huffed, still fucking Draco hard and fast.

“No, sir.” Draco agreed, pressed into the wall in rhythm, feeling his erection bouncing.

“Do they ache?” Master asked him, fucking Draco in an unceasing rhythm. “Does your arse hurt?”

“Yes, sir.” Draco realized that had been two questions. “Yes to both, sir.”

“I never use enough lube, do I?” his employer moaned, never letting up on banging in and out of Draco's already tender hole. Draco could feel the Master’s fingernails digging into his hipbones.

“No, sir,” Draco whined, thirsting for permission to let go of the wall and stroke his own cock, still hard as a rock and just as neglected.

“But your dick is hard and you love this fuck, don’t you?” Master cried, speeding up somehow. Draco knew he was getting ready to come. “You love my big cock in your arse?”

“Yes, yes sir!” Draco agreed helplessly, feeling Master Harry fill his rectum with hot come that immediately began dripping out of his irritated hole.

“Good,” Master said, sounding supremely self satisfied. “Good.” He reached around to check the state of Draco's cock once more, and when he discovered Draco was still hard and leaking, he laughed with pleasure. “Liggy! Get me more potion!”

Liggy appeared silently and immediately, and the little vial of erection potion appeared in the Master’s hand just as Draco turned his head to see the Master over his still bent shoulder. He was still leaning over in the bathtub, hands on the wall, arse sticking out like the obedient sex slave he most certainly was.

“Good. Because I meant it when I said we would be at this for a while.”

Draco made sure his Master was looking at his face before he spoke.

“I’m glad, sir. I’m still ready.”

His words were soft, but when the Master’s warm new grin nearly split his face, he knew he’d been both heard and understood.

“Good. This time why don’t you put your left hand in the middle of the wall and wrap your right loosely around your own little dick?” His eyes got sharp as he twisted off the cap, and he spoke before lifting the vial to his lips. “My dick should always make you hard. Even when my dick is hurting you. Just don’t come yet. Hear? We’ll save that for later. Maybe when the water is starting to get lukewarm.”

Master fucked him raw, not stopping until he’d come five times in Draco's arse, allowing Draco, finally, to come as Master Harry exploded with his fifth orgasm. “Come, whore! Come now!” Draco’s anus was bleeding when they stepped out of the warm water into a room so filled with steam they could see it nearly to Draco's waist.

He was bleeding, but he did not cry. Cries of eagerness and desire were not what the Master had meant at all. He’d ruthlessly held in the threatening tears of pain. He wouldn’t be the reason his Master stopped fucking.

Master threw a healing charm at his burning skin and sent him to the bed alone.

“I’ll be back later. I need to burn this off on my treadmill. Go to sleep, whore.” Looking toward him, at first Draco felt sure that the Master lingered in the doorway for a moment after turning off the light, but his descent into sleep was so swift that later he thought he had surely created the picture in his own mind. Wishful thinking. Nothing more.

The next afternoon a package came through the Floo for Draco while Master was shut away in his office. It had a pair of tall, water-proofed moccasins (essentially the right size, with thick enough socks) and a long, warm pair of ugly, screaming-orange track bottoms. They actually said “Cannons” in the distinctive Chudley script, right across the arse in a rainbow curve. They were so unappealing Draco could only smile. The note inside the package said “For the garden only.”

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Draco wore his “garden wear” every day for weeks. Abandoning first the socks, then the moccasins, and finally the track pants as the weather turned warm and eventually to muggy and even hot. Liggy took to sighing angrily and magically waterproofing first his clothes, then his hair, and eventually _him_ , before he left for his walks. She hated him to track rain and mud on her clean floors.

He was out one rainy afternoon, splashing in the brook and feeling bizarrely dry, secure with the knowledge that his employer was on the telephone with his publisher and quite preoccupied, when he heard a garbled sort of shouting coming from the house.

Draco walked toward it, trying to find the source.

He soon saw that his Master’s office window was open. Master was shouting angrily into the telephone, though he’d clearly thrown some sort of muffling or scrambling charm on for privacy. Draco couldn’t make crups or kneazles of what he managed to hear, even with the window open wide.

Master caught Draco's eye, so he stood silently, wondering what this phone call might mean for him. It seemed to take forever before Master ended the conversation only to hang his head low over his desk. Draco just stood in the damp grass, waiting, while a light misty rain fell all around him but failed to penetrate Liggy’s magic. The Master looked either defeated, exhausted, or so angry he couldn’t move. His face was hidden behind his shaggy hair and all Draco could see of him was the stiff lines of his limbs as he stood locked in an acute angle over his pristine desk.

The telephone sat next to the computer, as innocent as a piece of the Muggle world could possibly look. Draco was scowling at it when Master raised his head and caught Draco's eye again. The charm was still up, so the words made no sense, but Draco still easily read his employer’s lips. “Get. In. Here. Now.”

Draco nodded once and hurried to obey.

He entered the house through the back door and barely noticed Liggy stripping the waterproofing spells from his body as he rushed toward Master’s office.

“Good,” he heard as he entered the room. He wondered how Master desired him. Clearly the man was angry, not defeated, and Draco had little idea of what sort of submission would please his employer the most. Master, luckily, didn’t seem interested in guessing games. He was sitting at his desk, one hand behind his back, the other resting casually on his keyboard. He looked at Draco up and down, lingering briefly on his unbound hair. Then he nodded once. “Strip off and stand next to that wall.”

Draco hurriedly obeyed, yanking today’s shift, this one a pale yellow, off his head. It caught on his ear but the Master just sat there, palms down on the desk, his wand pressed between his right and the wood – waiting for Draco to finish following orders.

The spot Master had nodded at was the clearest space in the room. There had been a wide bookcase there a few weeks ago, but for reasons Draco had known better than to ask, it had been removed and not yet replaced. Liggy had muttered something about repairing a valuable antique and Draco had assumed it was that bookshelf. Now there was a large open space and Draco stood in it, completely naked and vaguely curious.

“Catch,” Potter called, sounding distracted. A small black bundle arced through the air slowly. Draco wasn’t surprised when it landed soft in his hand. The way it moved, it had to have been cloth or paper. Holding it loosely in his hand, he looked across the room. The Master was standing, leaning really, over his desk. He was typing something, keys clacking soft and fast.

Unobserved, Draco opened the little bundle up. It was a black blindfold, fuzzy on the inside and with three sets of straps: across the top and bottom and through the center as well.

“Put that on properly,” Potter said. “I don’t want any light getting through.”

Draco pulled the elastic straps over his head and fussed with the blindfold. Bending over to get his loose hair completely out of the way, he put the top elastic under his hairline. Then he stood and rested the bottom elastic high on the back of his head, just under the crown. The center strap tied, and when he pulled at it the blindfold crinkled in over his squint, pressing his half-masted eyelashes even further down. He wouldn’t be seeing anything at all with this thing on. He closed his eyes again and tied a little bow at the back of his head.

“Bend your knees. Good. Arms up and out,” Master murmured, sounding far away, and more under control already. And when Draco obeyed, he heard a firm _Incarcerous_.

Now his arms were stretched out wide and high, but he had ropes he could hold onto with his hands. His legs were free, and the Master came over and stroked down Draco's naked ribs. Master then somehow lowered Draco slightly further, so that his anus would be at just the right height for Master to fuck without straining or finding a step stool. Master lowered his zipper quietly and spat into his hand. “Put your knees around my waist and hold on, whore. I know you’ll love this fuck, even if it hurts a little.” Draco obeyed immediately, but Master waited, not sliding his cock into Draco's arse. “Won’t you?” he prodded. And Draco began to understand what his Master required today.

“Yes, sir,” he breathed. “I will.”

He did. Master fucked him so often now that minimal lubricant was no longer the problem it had been. And though Potter almost certainly didn’t stroke his prostate intentionally, the filthy caress was there no matter the reason.

But when it was over just a few moments later, come dripping down his slightly bent legs and his flagging, unsatisfied erection hanging down like the neck of a tired crane, Master did not release the ropes.

As far as Draco could hear, Master didn’t bother to zip up his denims again. Draco pictured his dirty cock flopping out, right over the zipper. Draco heard him sit at his desk, the wand clatter once on the surface. Then Master clicked a button on his computer, hummed once at a small beep, and began to type.

Draco knew better than to say anything. It was not his place to ask. Instead, he concentrated on his knees. They would begin to ache soon if he didn’t take precautions.

Master tapped away for perhaps twenty or thirty minutes as Draco carefully adjusted his weight back and forth between his knees. His shoulders were starting to feel the strain as well, so he alternated between grasping the ropes with his hands and relaxing into the scratchy hemp.

In his imagination Master looked up at him frequently, but it was less of a strain to keep his face impassive than he’d have expected. The large blindfold helped: hiding none of his mouth, but most of his nose and nearly everything above, all the way past his eyebrows.

He had no idea how long he would be required to hang there, and attempted to meditate to pass the time. He thought meditating in such an uncomfortable position was probably a little too advanced for him, but it felt fairly soon when the Master’s chair squeaked as it rolled backward.

“Hey, whore,” Potter said in a jocular tone. “You look bored. Fancy a fuck?”

“Yes sir,” Draco agreed. “If you are offering.” His tone was mild and obedient, his body still hurt. But he felt his heart beating, felt himself getting hard.

“Heh,” his employer answered simply. Then Draco heard the rolling chair pushed back and footsteps that approached. Master stood in front of his strung up sex slave and rubbed a hard cock over Draco's now filling one. Draco could only picture it, the erection jutting full and rosy from his Master’s still-opened zipper. “Oh, I’m offering. You want some of this? You want a bit of all right stuffed up your little whore arse?”

“Please, sir,” Draco whispered huskily. “Please?”

Master turned and murmured something and this time lube appeared to be on offer. An unseen drawer rasped open – wood on wood – and something small landed with a little _thunk_ in his employer’s hand. Draco could easily picture the usual bottle. Master slicked a little on his cock before pulling one of Draco's long, stiff legs around his waist. Draco attempted to balance on his other leg without making the other man suffer any of his weight. The ropes helped.

Master Harry touched Draco's anus with the tip of his cock, and then stopped.

“Yes,” the man murmured in a surprisingly gentle voice. “But… do you _deserve_ it, I wonder.”

Draco squared his twinging shoulders and lifted his censored face toward his Master’s. “No sir, I definitely don’t deserve the pleasure of your big cock thrusting in and out of my arse. But you do, sir. If I may be so bold. I think that you do.”

“Good answer,” Master mumbled into Draco's messy hair, and shoved his dick into Draco's half-prepared hole. “Good answer,” he repeated, and fucked Draco hard and fast and furious, again coming quickly and leaving Draco to wait.

This time Draco hung there at length before his Master slurped down another potion and stood to fuck him again, and before the fourth fuck it felt like an eternity passed.

Master fucked him a fifth time before declaring they were done for the day. By then the room had cooled and Draco found himself sagging in the ropes, no longer able to stand.

Finally his employer pulled out and let go of Draco’s legs. The blindfold fell to the floor and Draco blinked slowly, looking at the floor through heavily lidded eyes. The sun had set, he could see, and he was grateful.

Master cut Draco off the wall with a spell Draco couldn’t hear, and caught Draco's long body in his arms. He eased Draco out the office door and down the hall, ignoring Liggy who clucked and fussed words Draco couldn’t process. He gently put Draco on the bed and pointed his wand at Draco, who considered flinching but discovered that he was too wrecked to actually do so.

The light from his employer’s wand was pink and turquoise, however, and Draco's shrieking muscles and joints all calmed immediately. Then he was bundled into the bed. He curled into a little ball and breathed, eyes closed and brain as empty as it had ever been. Then the bed dipped and creaked quietly and his Master was all of a sudden wrapped warmly around him. They slept together that way all night long, and the Master didn’t get a single erection or ask for any sexual attention.

In the morning Master woke them before Liggy could, hopping out of bed with a wary smile and a call toward Liggy for a large breakfast.

It wasn’t until Draco was running on the treadmill later, alone with the view and his thoughts, that he realized it had been the first time – since _that time_ – that he and Potter had been face to face during sex. No wonder there had been a blindfold.


	13. Thirteen

Chapter 13

Time passed oddly again, once Draco had readjusted to being his Master’s only sex slave. He was in Potter’s physical presence most of the time now, and he found this proximity granted him a sense of calm. Sometimes he was encouraged to read, or even to nap on the floor, leaving his employer to work at his typewriter for weeks at a time of little sex beyond his cherished morning fellatio. Other times Mr. Potter would put his book down for days to fuck Draco raw all over the house until he’d “fucked off the writer’s block,” or “finished celebrating writing the end of chapter eighteen.”

Christmas came and went again, or perhaps it did so twice? There were birthdays, he knew. Some were marked on the Master’s paper wall calendar. They were nonetheless ignored by everyone in the household. Often Master would spend that day away, usually with the Weasleys -- or at least that was the first place he would Floo. But it wasn’t like Liggy not to serve her Master a fancy birthday cake, at the very least, so Draco wondered if she’d been forbidden to mark the day. He wondered why his Master wouldn’t want his own birthday acknowledged in his house. He knew he must not ask. And then he forgot to wonder about it at all.

The new book was the focus of his Master’s summer, though. Far more than Draco's tight arse. But Draco didn’t mind, he found. He sucked his Master’s beautiful erection into submission and ejaculation every morning before breakfast, he exercised, he rubbed Mr Potter’s back and shoulders, they kept each other warm at night. He assumed he had to be the most content slave on earth and examined thoughts about life as little as possible.

He kept up his breathing and mediation practice as well. They were excellent ways to pass the time when he needed to be a warm presence of nearness; but when thinking -- not to mention being aware of how his hipbones pressed into the thin carpet next to the Master’s desk -- were unpleasant and tiresome enterprises. But at some point he stopped reading the books on Buddhism. Meditation, yes, but Buddhism? The messages he found there about how life is suffering, about how all, even he, were worthy of liberation from that suffering…. Those messages didn’t resonate anymore.

He found that, to his Master’s amusement, he preferred children’s fantasy books. Specifically those written for Muggle children. Master often indulged this preference, and new stacks of dragon-bedecked hardbacks would arrive erratically, depending on Master’s moods and the schedules of publishing houses across the English-speaking world. But if no new books arrived for a few months, that was just as well. Draco found that many of these books were endlessly re-readable, releasing him, as they did, into a world he had never, and would never know. He missed nothing of it once the book was closed. They were as easy to shut as they were to open, and they helped pass the time.

They were both reading in the parlour one surprisingly warm October day, when an enormous owl flew right through the open window, barely ruffling the opened curtains. Draco was on the floor across from the Master, who sat in his favourite chair with his feet up on an ottoman. He was reading a finalist for the Man Booker Prize, something he usually referred to as research. Draco quite appreciated this form of research. He got to read all the books when his employer had finished them, and whether or not they were good, they provided an easy contrast from his fantasy novels.

Master called for her and Liggy fetched the owl a bowl of water and several treats. Draco put his own book down on the floor next to him and watched as Master ripped open a large, fat square of an envelope. It was a curious letter. Not only was it not rolled up, but the address appeared to be in a large and formal hand. Almost calligraphic.

Multiple pieces of paper came loose as Master clumsily separated them. They all fell in his lap except one, which Master began to read. Draco couldn’t be certain, but he watched, and it did not seem to him that his employer even finished reading before he angrily grabbed a small card, scratched a vivid black slash onto it, and shoved it at Liggy. “Send this back with the owl,” he growled, and stood up. Then he tossed most of the remaining papers at the fire. Some landed close enough to begin curling and smoking. Master didn’t seem to care that only some would soon be destroyed, and Draco wondered if he’d intended to destroy them.

Then Master took three steps toward Draco and thrust the letter he’d read -- at least in part -- toward Draco’s head. Draco did not look at it, focusing instead on his angry Master.

“Here,” Master said in a clipped voice, sounding angry but controlled. “She used to be your girlfriend, you read the damn letter.” He threw the letter toward Draco and it fluttered to the floor between them. Draco wasn’t quite sure what to do with it, and watched his Master leave the room. Then he saw Liggy start for it, and he quickly picked it up before she could take it for herself. She sneered at him, but they both knew he had permission to read it, and she left the room, heading for the kitchen.

Wondering what would have sent Master into such a tailspin, Draco began to read.

> _. Dear Harry, _
> 
> _ Though many times it seemed it would never happen, somehow my sentence has ended. When that owl came for me… it felt like the sun was rising inside my heart. I thought I would burst open. And I know you won’t believe me, but I couldn’t even speak for what felt like hours. _
> 
> _ I want to thank you for sending me to Romania. Though at first I felt like the worst sort of slut, Charlie and I fell quickly into a rhythm and we have become friends. Now I understand why you like him so well. He really has a tremendous sense of fun. _
> 
> _ Better, though, is having found Lautaro. He is everything I need in a husband. He’s respectably older than me, but only by two years, and having grown up in Argentina, he’s essentially ignorant of my (and my family’s) role in the second war. His family isn’t wealthy but they’ve been wizards for long enough that no one in my family will be all that fussed, and he’s not bothered by the way I’ve been forced to behave for the last few years. He’s also a real dear and extremely handsome. And I mostly have you to thank. I would never have found him if it were not for you. _
> 
> _ Thank you, Harry. _
> 
> _ Astonishingly, I have more happy news, Charlie probably won’t tell you this himself, but through me he’s managed to find a real lover of his own. Gerwazy would almost certainly never have admitted an attraction for Charlie without me there to make it appear suitably heterosexual, but -- none too soon -- the two of them don’t need me anymore. The other men have seemingly accepted it and Charlie seems genuinely happy. It did take poor Gerwazy about ten months to calm down about it all, though! _
> 
> _ Lautaro and I plan to move to the other side of the preserve after the wedding, where the married couples live. The unmarried men have almost nothing to do with the married ones, and I haven’t mentioned it to Lautaro, but I am hoping to leave my sordid past completely behind me. I did my level best to enjoy it while I lived it, but it will be so good to have my body back, and to share it only with the man I chose, the one man I choose. And when I choose, too! Lautaro doesn’t want to wait for children, either, so in a year or two I could well be a completely different person. I can hardly wait to move into this new phase of life. Thank you again, Harry, for making it possible. _
> 
> _ Perhaps it is already obvious, but I should state this plainly just in case. Charlie, Gerwazy, Lautaro and I truly hope you will come to the wedding, Harry. Bring anyone you like. Draco, if you wish. I’d enjoy seeing him again. _
> 
> _ Sincerely, _
> 
> _ your old friend Pansy. _

Draco looked over to the fireplace, where the thick, cream coloured parchment smouldered. He could easily see now, what he had missed before. In a fanciful script, plain black on cream, was a very old fashioned wedding invitation.

> **
> 
> Mr and Mrs. Basil Gamp Parkinson request the magic of your presence…
> 
> **

Draco placed his bookmark and, twisting upward and to the side, put his novel on the table next to the chair he usually rested against. Then he stood slowly, shoved his braid around to his back, and smoothed his short coral coloured shift back over his arse, uncomfortably pockmarked from sitting directly on the carpet. Staring into the fire for a moment cleared his head. He gathered all the papers into one neat handful, then dropped Pansy’s letter and invitation in the fire and went to find his employer. He had the feeling the Master might be in the mood to get his cock sucked by a submissive, sitting at his feet.


	14. Fourteen

Chapter 14

Draco sat cross legged on ‘his’ bed, meditation book abandoned for a moment as he stared out the window at a bird. Master had been too busy working in his office to bother with Draco for a couple of days. He’d rolled him face-down and fucked him quickly before falling asleep, but that was nothing more than a sleeping pill.

Master entered the room and leaned casually against the wall. Draco turned and looked toward him, awaiting instruction. He looked no higher than Potter’s chest.

“What are you?” Master asked in a relaxed voice.

“Your faithful whore, sir.” Draco answered promptly.

“Good answer,” Potter said. “That’s exactly right. So stand up, remove your clothes, and bend over. Put your hands on the bed and present your pretty, naked arse to me. I plan to fuck you.”

Draco obeyed silently, and once he’d found the chosen position, he felt hands on his arse, cloth brushing his legs as it fell to the floor.

“Your arsehole is higher than my cock, bend your knees.”

Draco obeyed again, and felt a cockhead at his entrance. Master pressed, but at an angle, and fucked Draco's crack.

Master slid his cock up, down; wrapping his hands around Draco's hips, caressing his waist, checking to see if Draco was hard yet.

Master ran one warm hand slow and soft down Draco's spine. Master’s erection felt good in Draco's crack but he longed for more. Master rarely wanted to postpone his own orgasm. What had changed?

Draco's knees began to twinge and he breathed in deeply, attempting to meditate enough to distract his mind from the discomfort.

Master gripped Draco's hips and pulled at him a bit, fucking his crack firmly and changing Draco's stance enough to suddenly relieve and then sharply increase the ache in his knees and thighs.

Draco tried to hide his reaction, but something gave him away, because Master hummed, a noise both pleased and unkind.

“Uncomfortable?” he asked.

“Sir.” Draco replied, not wanting to lie.

“Your knees hurt,” Potter stated firmly. “Don’t they.” He reached around once more to make sure Draco was still hard. The Master was about to fuck him. Was touching him. Of course he was hard.

“Yes sir,” Draco replied obediently.

“But that doesn’t matter, does it?” Master asked, sounding content. He was still fucking Draco's crack slowly, showing no interest in intercourse, which would more quickly bring orgasm and therefore more quickly allow Draco out of this crouch.

“No, sir. It is of no consequence. I hope I did not detract from your pleasure.” Draco swallowed.

“Ahh…” Master said, speeding his thrusts and suddenly wetting Draco's crack with a spurt of pre-come. “No. Of course you didn’t. I _like_ it.”

He let go of Draco's hip and Draco heard him spit.

“You should make little noises, actually. I want to know how uncomfortable you are.” Then he shoved his erection deep into Draco's hole without any further preparation, and Draco released a pathetic little sound.

“ _Fuck_ yes!” Master crooned, fucking Draco fast and yanking at his hips. After this, Draco realized, his knees would ache for an age, and he let Potter know with little whines and moans that could have been sounds of distress or pleasure or both.

Master came hard, pumping furiously into Draco's body. Then Master collapsed slowly over Draco's bent back, and rested almost all of his weight on Draco, who took it with his teeth clenched; his thighs and knees screaming. Somehow he was still erect.

Master’s wet cock slipped slowly from Draco's anus with ugly, embarrassing sounds, and Draco stayed as still as he could.

“Ahh…” Master sighed, deeply content and gratified. He checked Draco's erection and made a small sound of satisfaction to find him still hard. “My very own whore.” He slapped Draco's arse, leaving a spot that burned hot as Master walked out of the room.

When Potter reached the doorway he turned slowly.

“So obedient,” he grinned. “Excellent. You may lie down now, little whore. Don’t come, of course. I shan’t want to fuck you again until… let’s say you’ll suck my cock before we eat dinner, and of course I will fuck your hole before I fall asleep. Until I choose to come in you again, however, you are free to do as you wish.”

Draco nodded at the bed and crawled on, his knees cracking out loud, his thighs screaming.

“Thank you, sir,” he mumbled. He turned his head toward the doorway once he reached the pillow. Master stood there, fondling his softened, dirty cock, and grinning.

“You are quite welcome, little whore,” Potter said with mocking solemnity. “My come is a gift. I suggest you keep it with you all day.” He laughed at his own meanness and walked away.

Draco rubbed his knees until he fell asleep on top of the blankets.

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Draco was sitting half underneath Potter’s desk when Potter kicked him lightly.

“Hey, what’s another word for slide?”

“What, sir?” Draco put his book down on his thigh and bent down in an attempt to see Potter’s face, but the man wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at his computer screen, fingers on the keys and a slightly frustrated expression on his face.

“Slide. I need a synonym. Slide is totally wrong, though. But close.” He hit one key, then a second. He frowned at the screen. “I need… more like… damn this stupid thesaurus. Maybe… glide? No, that sucks.”

“Slip?” Draco offered. He shuffled closer to the Master’s feet.

“Skate…” Potter muttered. “No… too athletic. Skip, skid, sashay… why are all the options in this thesaurus ‘s’ words? Plus, they all suck. I need something more… negative, almost. Dangerous? Fuck. Slink? Ooh, that’s a possibility….” He hit several keys and eased backward slightly. His face smoothed out a bit.

“Slither?” Draco choked out. The word caught on his tongue.

“Mmmm…” Potter said slowly, humming it. “Slitherrrrr…. That works, I think.” He tapped for a moment, then squinted a bit at the screen. Slither.” He paused again, then he smiled. “Yeah! That’s better than slink. Thanks.”

Draco sat quietly for a long time after that moment. He practiced his breathing exercises, as both reading and meditation seemed completely out of reach for the rest of the afternoon. Breathe in to one hundred, hold it to one hundred….

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Draco was on the weight bench, absently hoping he could still trust Liggy’s spells to protect him from falling weights. He’d honestly no idea when she’d last renewed the safety spells. Had it been two weeks? Two months? But she was a very reliable servant, he knew, and the Master didn’t particularly want a squashed sex slave, so he had to trust that she was still taking care of it.

He stared blearily out the window, daydreaming of walking through the garden as he lifted the weights distractedly, without thinking or counting. The snow was coming thick and fast now. Soon it would be Christmas again. Then the new year. Another year here. Another year off his sentence. He still had … how many did he have left, now? His lifting slowed, but he did not notice.

The passage of time felt so bizarre in this version of life he found himself living. Some days he would be shocked to see that the wall calendar was somehow _still_ on, say, March. Where he could swear it had been resting for an eternity. Then a day or a week or two would pass and he would realize the Master was at the Weasley home again, celebrating his birthday. Which came at the end of July. And he would shake his head in dismay and remember the fogs he’d lived in at Tilford’s. This was too close to that for comfort, but he’d no idea how to fix it.

He did recall, though, that he’d been sentenced to a full fifteen years of “rehab,” which he was fairly sure would end around the time he turned forty-three; really some months after. He gripped at the bar but failed to lift it. He was almost certain he would turn thirty-four in June – not that he ever wanted to remember something as frivolous and intimate as his birthday. If so, that meant nine years until he would be alone in a world he’d nearly forgotten. Nine years before he had to make a single decision. Nine more years of this life, with this man. This amazing, terrible, infectious man.

He hoped, by the time it was over, that it would have been enough.

“What are you doing?” his Master growled from the doorway, and Draco turned his head quickly away from the window. His braid caught on the corner of the bench and he pulled at it with a yank of his head. How he wished he could cut it off.

“I apologize, sir. I got distracted and forgot to exercise.” Draco flushed and gripped the bar over his chest again, planning to start his reps afresh, when his employer advanced upon him, only to glower silently from the end of the weight bench, right between Draco's slightly separated knees.

Draco wanted to ask what was wanted of him, but instead he swallowed and watched as the Master waited. Eyes roved over his body and he tensed and then relaxed his fists around the metal bar above his chest. He looked at Potter’s chest, tracing the musculature through the worn black tshirt. He wasn’t sure if the nipples it hid were peaked at all.

Finally a gesture from his employer prompted Draco to pull his shift up high enough to expose his entire groin. Then he waited to see what the man required next. He was not surprised to see the Master reach into loose track pants and begin to stroke his cock, nor was he all that surprised when the man pushed them down and toed them off.

But when Master Harry stood around the bench straddling Draco's hips, put the barbell on the floor, sat on Draco's crotch and rested the weight of his palms on Draco’s shoulders, Draco had to concentrate to keep his face appearing merely peaceful and open.

Master was already getting hard, having looked long at his nearly naked whore while stroking his own cock. But now that his employer’s crepe-soft balls, wiry pubes, tight round arse, and silken erection were teasing him, Draco too was nearly fully erect already. Nervous about what might be wanted of him, Draco looked at the ceiling and breathed.

Master teased Draco's erection with his own body for a few more strokes, then he grabbed Draco's chin and forced eye contact. “You want to fuck me, whore?”

“Sir?” Draco managed. Master had not wanted to bottom to Draco's top in years, since the first time they had lived together. This felt like a trap.

Master reached between them and grabbed Draco's erection. Draco shivered and felt himself finish getting completely hard in his employer’s fist. Then his Master pointed the head of Draco's cock directly at his own anus, so tight and neglected. Master rested some weight on his slave’s erection and Draco fought to keep his eyes open.

“I _said_ , do you want to fuck me. Whore.”

Draco found some reserve of calm, of self-preservation. “I could stay erect for that, if Master wished it.”

“I bet you could, you damn Death Eater.” He reached over, all the way down to the floor next to the bench, into his track pants and fished out his wand. Draco breathed as deeply as he could without making it obvious. The head of Draco’s dick was now hard against Master’s anus, and the temptation to reach out and take what seemed to be on offer was annoyingly present.

“ _Accio_ lube!” Master sat up again, wand out. A small, half-full container of lubricant levitated in through the open door and into his hand.

Master lifted his body off Draco's and slowly, thoroughly, drizzled the entire container of lube over Draco's erection and balls. Then, once he’d dropped the emptied bottle and his wand on the floor, Master put both hands on Draco's shoulders again and began to rock against Draco's erection.

“Put your hands on my waist, damn you!”

Draco obeyed immediately. His cock was nestled between his Master’s arse cheeks and his Master’s eyes were closed as he rubbed hard against Draco's erection. Draco couldn’t be sure which sensation was more destructive to his self control: Master’s lightly furred arse on the shaft of his cock, or Master’s heavy, soft balls dragging their weight across the head of his cock. Draco looked down his own body and saw Potter’s erection drag a trail of precome along Draco's stomach.

He looked at the ceiling again.

“Put your…” Master panted. His eyes were closed and he seemed to have a tenuous hold on his own control. “Hands on my arse. Now, whore.”

Draco obeyed and then wondered how much initiative he should take. Very tentatively he tightened his grip on Master’s arse, and the Master grunted and rocked against him even harder. _Fuck_. He needed to stay hard for his employer to enjoy him, but this felt really fucking good. Good enough to make him come. He began to meditate. Or attempt to, anyway. The disassociating helped and he was able to caress his Master’s arse and prevent himself from coming, even when his Master moved back enough for his foreskin to catch on Draco’s.

“You want to fuck me, don’t you?” his Master growled. “You want to slide that damned Death Eater dick into my arse, don’t you?”

Draco decided to assume the question was rhetorical.

Master grabbed Draco's left arm and pulled it toward his chest. When Draco merely rested his hand on the Master’s right pectoral swell, however, the man growled and reached for Draco's finger. “Pinch, you little fucker,” he rasped. Draco obeyed but was apparently too tentative, because he was punished with a slap to his hand. “Don’t make me fuck myself, you worthless whore. Pinch my tits!”

“Yes, Master,” Draco whispered and he reached up with the other hand. Then he pinched both of the man’s nipples, then a bit harder, then a bit harder still, until his Master – eyes still firmly closed – moaned loudly.

Sensing from body language that it was something the man would enjoy, Draco began to tilt his hips up into Potter’s downward strokes, dramatically increasing the pressure their cocks created together. His Master’s head hung low at this, swinging like a broken toy on a string. “Ungh…” Master groaned, and Draco turned his head and tried to unfocus his eyes and meditate again.

“Bet you think you should be able to fuck me,” Potter whispered harshly, writhing slowly on Draco's rock hard erection. “Bet you want to turn the tables and take me, fuck me, own me, ta _AKE_ me!! Aungh!”

The lube was dripping into the crack of Draco's arse, distracting him from the frotting, thank Merlin. He needed anything he could get to keep him from coming. The assault was attacking him at nearly every level, his hands, his dick, his balls, his eyes if he wasn’t vigilant about looking away. Maybe a breathing exercise….

“Gonna come, fuck, gonna fucking come all over your fucking face, you fucking bitch….” Master was muttering now, barely audible, but Draco knew he had to be close to coming if this felt anywhere near as good to him as it did to Draco.

Suddenly the man stopped and slapped Draco's hands away from his chest. “Fucking whore!” he yelled. “Turn over. Now!”

Draco rolled over as quickly as he could, though it was a weight bench and the man was still essentially sitting on his hips.

“Well, you can’t!” the man yelled, and repositioning himself, shoved his cock deep into Draco's unprepared and almost completely unlubricated hole. Draco couldn’t help but cry out at the thrust into his body. His erection was smashing into the weight bench and he tried to use his arms and legs to reduce the pressure at least slightly, to raise his hips off the weight bench just a few millimeters.

“You can’t,” Master cried. “You fucking. Well. Can’t!” He slammed into Draco's arse, hard. He was banging his hipbones into Draco's cheeks with every word.

“Come, you little Death Eater bitch! Come with my big cock owning your hole!” He fucked into Draco hard and fast, holding onto Draco's hips hard enough to bruise, to hurt. “Reach down there and grab that cock, you whore! Love it! Love my cock in your rotten, worthless body!” Draco grabbed his erection with relief. This might hurt his wrist, but he was so fucking close, this shouldn’t take more than a few strokes. As long as Potter didn’t collapse on him while his wrist was twisted wrong, he should be fine.

“Tell me, whore! Fucking talk!” He smashed his cock into Draco again. Again. Hard and painful. Again. Draco's erection hadn’t flagged in the slightest. He angled his hips up again and tried to think of something to say.

Draco opened his mouth and a deep moan emerged. “Goood…” he husked, too quiet.

“Yes!” The man in his body screamed. “Yes!” And they both came, writhing erratically and jerking like a pair of fish, speared on one pitiless hook.

When it was over, Potter didn’t collapse on Draco at all. He yanked his cock from Draco's body and stood, leaving Draco in two dripping pools of come: one squelching under him, one oozing down his thighs.

“Liggy!” He yelled, sounding revolted. “Come clean up this damned mess!”

“Do your fucking reps, whore,” his Master shot at him as he walked out of the room. “You’re only good enough for Harry Potter’s cock if you’re pretty.”

Draco rolled over and returned to his exercise routine, ignoring Liggy’s scowls as she cleaned up the mess underneath his back, down his thighs and – presumably – on the floor.

How would his Master behave after an explosive fuck like _that_ , he wondered? What the hell had triggered it, for that matter? Draco was reasonably sure he could have done nothing to avoid it. Now that it was over, and had been impossible to prevent, Draco could only wonder if it would continue. What might happen in the office? What would dinner be like tonight? Where would his employer have him sleep? He counted to ten over and over.

 

Hours later, he lay in the man’s bed, wrapped as securely in the man’s arms as ever, as it turned out. Exactly as though nothing whatsoever had happened.

The beauty of only fucking slaves, Draco mused as he attempted to fall asleep in his owner’s unconscious warmth, was never needing to talk about anything you did not choose to.

Without Buddhist meditation techniques, he doubted he would have ever fallen asleep that night.


	15. Fifteen

Chapter 15

“Here.”

“Sir?”

Draco was sitting on the parlour floor again. He'd heard Potter's pop of apparition about five minutes earlier, but it had sounded like he'd materialized elsewhere, and then headed for the kitchen. Now the man was standing in front of him, holding a book in his outstretched hand.

“You've read all the previous ones, haven't you? This is my fifth. Well, it's the Bound Galley, anyway.”

Draco reached up and took the cheaply bound paperback from Potter's outstretched hand. He placed it in his lap without breaking eye contact.

“I, er, thought you'd want to read it.” Potter broke the eye contact. “Because. You know….” Potter turned away and started for the hallway that held his office and the bedrooms. “Right. Just tell me what you think of it, then, will you?”

Draco watched his employer vanish down the hallway and waited for him to reappear. When he didn't after a minute or two, Draco looked at the manuscript in his lap.

The cover was a vivid and surprisingly attractive swirl of orange and green. _Quilted Thorns_ it declared in large black letters across the top. _H.E.Potter_ it identified in smaller letters across the bottom.

Draco opened the book gently, so as not to crack the binding; then began to read.

Hours later, he had finished it. He had sat, then stretched out on the floor, then rolled onto his back. All through the afternoon he had devoured the Master's fifth book and not once put it down, even bringing it into the loo. No one had spoken to him all day, and dinner, he vaguely realized as he stood and stretched his stiff muscles, had almost certainly been delayed. Liggy was calling him now, but the sun had set.

“Sir,” Draco said when he arrived at the dinner table. He pulled out his own chair and sat, placing the bound galley on the table.

“You read it?” Potter asked. He sounded slightly unsure of himself.

“Yes, sir,” Draco agreed quietly. “I enjoyed it.” He could have said far more: how it felt throughout the book that he was missing things, that there were things being alluded to that Draco wasn't quite catching. He could have said that the Master's sentences were becoming more luminous. That the Master's plots were becoming less concrete and more evocative. He could have said that there were several places in this one that had made him want to cry. That something in the book felt threatening. He could have said that the creepy nightmare character, Misster Ssnapp, was scarier than he had ever been. But it felt wise to wait.

“Good,” Potter breathed. “Good.” Now he said it briskly, dismissively. “Nice to hear it. Liggy, what's tonight's soup?”

They never spoke of _Quilted Thorns_ again. Soon it was as though it had never been in Draco's hands at all.

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Another Christmas came. There was no tree, there never was, but Draco was surprised to find a wrapped gift at the foot of the bed when he woke the second time, hours after the Master had Flooed off to celebrate with the Weasleys. It was a new pair of moccasins to wear outside, and in the brook. This pair even fit properly.

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Draco stepped out of the bathroom. He'd exercised and showered and put on an older shift, the one that turned his eyes ice blue. Liggy no longer bothered to replace them, but they didn't get much rough treatment, most of the time. He was about to braid his own hair, but thought he could hear a voice. He opened the bathroom door.

“Hey whore!” Potter was calling from his office. Draco jumped out of the bathroom and trotted down the hall, impatiently pushing his loose hair over his shoulder as he rushed.

“Sir?” He stood in the doorway. Potter had been away so much lately for his UK _Quilted Thorns_ book tour and – presumably – parties celebrating the release. Maybe he wanted sex?

“You're coming with me to the States. The publishing company wants to push harder to break me into that market, and I don't feel like sleeping alone for all that time. And the Portkey fees wouldn't be worth it. Better to just take you along. Liggy!”

“Sir called?” Liggy materialized halfway into the room, right in between Draco and their Master.

Potter didn't even look at her. “The whore is coming with me on tour. We'll be gone for…” he checked his computer, “three weeks. This time. He needs Muggle style clothes that fit him. Can you buy those? Or make them? Otherwise I have to order them over the internet.”

Liggy looked flustered for a moment. “Liggy will… Liggy try, Master. May be wizarding stores selling Muggle clothing. What's does Master wants bought?”

A piece of paper floated toward her and she pulled it from the air. “Me sees,” she said, and vanished.

Draco waited, silent, as his Master tapped for a moment. “Here, whore,” Master murmured. “There are things I don't trust her to buy. Kneel here.”

Master pulled a small tape measure from a drawer and manually measured Draco's neck, wrists, and ankles. He wrote down numbers for each. “Are you allergic to any metals?” he asked quietly, not looking away from his computer screen.

“No, sir.”

“Good. Good… er… large on that one… and these as well… with the… right and… hm…” he tapped as he muttered, then pulled a small rectangle from a drawer and tapped for a bit longer. “Black, obviously… don't tell me they don't carry… oh, here. What a stupid way to classify…. Good. That should be….” He tapped a few more times, looking at the card. Then he smiled, and pushed away from the desk slightly. “Okay,” he said. Then he sighed contentedly, opened and closed a drawer, and pushed back from his desk a little further.

“Those better come before we leave. I sprang for the rushed shipping. Now I want you to suck me.”

Draco crawled toward Master's chair, his long hair getting under one hand and in his way. He frowned impatiently. This was why he usually kept it braided.

Master had already pulled his flaccid cock and balls out of his soft, button-up track pants by the time Draco made his way around the chair legs and the underside of the desk. Then he sat lotus-style in front of Master's penis and kissed the head, taking the shaft in his right and pulling gently at Master's balls with his left. He kissed the head again, lingering this time, mouthing it, tasting the first tiny drop of pre-come hiding inside the slit.

Master made a grumpy sounding growl, so Draco opened his lips and sucked hard on the first few inches. Then he opened his mouth, laving the underside with his tongue, relieving the pressure. He quivered his tongue a bit, wondering if Master would like that today. Master's knees fell further away and Draco grinned and made the tongue motion again.

Master reached up, slowly, lazily, and put a hand into Draco's hair.

“Whore,” he said, sounding affectionate. Satisfied. “My whore.” He tightened his hand in Draco's hair, pulling at the roots a little before releasing his fist and drifting down to caress the back of Draco's neck.

Harry's hand pulled a little at Draco's nape and Draco looked up to see Potter, head tipped sideways, a silky grin on his face. “Deep throat me now, my little whore.” Master pulled Draco's head closer so Draco could obey, fisting his hand into the tender hair at the base of Draco's skull. Draco moaned involuntarily. It hurt a bit, in such a delicious way. He was his Master's valued possession.

Draco's throat closed around the head of Potter's cock as he gave this moan, and Potter responded to the twin stimuli with a powerful orgasm Draco wished in vain he could taste. Master's come sprayed the inside of Draco's throat with force, and Draco dragged out the moan and swallowed fiercely around his Master's gratified erection.

“Good,” Master huffed. “Good whore. Release my cock from your mouth now, but leave your face resting on my thigh.”

Draco obeyed and closed his eyes when he felt Master's hand pet his hair.

They stayed like that until Liggy announced dinner, some long minutes later.

At Master's request, Draco crawled behind him to the dinner table. They ate nothing until he'd thoroughly licked Master's cock and balls clean of any possible trace of come or sweat.

Then Master gestured, and Draco ate sitting at the table, silent and waiting for instructions that never came.

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They were due to Floo out Monday afternoon and the packages Master and Liggy ordered did not arrive until Monday morning.

Potter and Liggy packed Potter's case, Master choosing several outfits and Liggy pressing and packing those and everything else she thought Master might need for a three week trip to the states. Then Liggy packed Draco's case with no input from either man. She laid a Muggle-style outfit out for him as well, and he put it on obediently, surprised at how dull and unflattering it was.

The boxers were ugly. A strange green colour that reminded Draco not of Slytherin, but of mold. The singlet looked silly on him but he put it on obediently nonetheless.

The shirt was a little big, and the yellowish-coral colour made him look sallow and washed out. He'd looked very good in variants of both colours before, and Liggy was usually remarkably good at making him look enticing. Curious and a little confused, Draco wondered silently at how badly she'd done this time.

The trousers, too, were terrible. They required a belt to stay up, and the belt she provided was the wrong colour, and did not appear to be real leather. As Draco knew how much Potter liked real leather, he was again confused, but said nothing and picked up his case to walk to the Floo. The shoes, at least, matched the trousers and did not hurt his feet.

Draco was hardly surprised by the lack of cufflinks, but neither was there a tie or jacket.

Master frowned at him when he arrived in front of the Floo, but they had no time for magical changes and Potter turned away to give Liggy a few last minute instructions and encouragements.

Shortly before the Portkey glowed a thirty second warning Master pushed up Draco's left cuff and took something small from his pocket. As Draco waited passively, arm out and mouth closed, Potter snapped a tight leather cuff around Draco's wrist, just above the round knob of bone. Draco raised his arm slightly to see that silver letters now spelled out “WHORE” across his wrist. His Master grinned possessively as he raised his wand to mutter a charm Draco knew would prevent the bracelet's removal. Then Potter pulled Draco's cuff back down over the leather and metal.

“Looks good,” Master said simply, and picked up his case, gesturing for Draco to do the same.

Draco obeyed, and listened patiently as Liggy counted down the last eight seconds until the Portkey whisked them away.

They landed long, uncomfortable moments later, their cases in hand and breath hard lost, in a reception room that looked like every international Portkey point Draco had ever seen. “Welcome to magical New York City!” a sign proclaimed, and Draco barely saw it before Master was yanking him off the dais and handing their paperwork to a bored looking functionary in a nice-enough blue and gold uniform.

Draco barely noticed as Potter got directions to their hotel, which involved Flooing to the closest magical establishment, reorienting themselves, obtaining a few maps, and walking—this time with Draco carrying both suitcases, but at least Potter had first spelled them both nearly weightless—two blocks to their posh hotel.

The weather, happily, was quite pleasant.

Draco had never stayed in a Muggle hotel but it wasn't all that different from what he recalled of visiting magical ones in childhood. The staff was deferential yet proud, the lobby decadent, the lift glassed in, the gymnasium impressive, the room sumptuous. Instead of house elves there were cute young uniformed boys rushing about with fake smiles, and everything was far slower, but he'd learned a great deal about patience in Azkaban and honed it at Potter's house. And what did he have to hurry to, anyway?

He followed Potter silently and said little—then only when spoken to. They already had a reservation. It seemed the publishing company had made it and everything was in order. Master signed this, handed over that, received things he put in a jacket pocket. Master asked directions to the bookstore where he was to spend most of tomorrow, endlessly signing copies of Quilted Thorns. It was just a few blocks away, the young woman assured him. Very close.

A handsome young man in a blue uniform with silly gold braided epaulets put their two (just then, surreptitiously re-weighted) cases on a cart and brought them to their sixth floor room. He fussed around, helping them until Master pressed a bit of green paper in his hand and shooed him gently out the door.

Master sighed and turned away from the door to look at Draco, who stood obediently in the middle of the room doing nothing. “I want to go out and I want you on my arm, but good grief, not looking like _that_. Take that awful stuff off while I look through your case for something better.”

Draco walked to a large reading chair and began to strip quickly; carefully laying the offending clothes over the blue brocaded back. Master made a few odd sounds, but Draco ignored him in favour of following orders. Unsure about the boxers and singlet, he left them on and looked up for guidance, when he saw Potter sitting on the edge of the enormous, snowy white bed in a messy pile of clothing.

“Sir?” Draco asked, wondering what he was to do now.

“Come look at this!” Potter laughed, and Draco obeyed, face blank but mind absorbing and cataloguing his Master's open face, eager laugh, desire to share. Was this what Master was like after leaving the house? Or Liggy? Or England?

Draco moved to stand in front of Potter, who pulled an ugly button-down from the pile. “Isn't this _horrid_?” he asked. “What the hell was she _thinking_?”

Master turned his face up, smiling at Draco, and Draco smiled back: silent, obedient, respectful and reflecting, and yet … smiling down at Potter, who was smiling up at him, sharing Liggy's ugly mistake.

They went through the entire pile and found exactly nothing that was better than the outfit Liggy had laid out for Draco an hour or so before. There was an orange polo shirt. A hideous brown and red tie, wide as a saucer. Several shirts that were too small and ugly trousers that were too large. Everything was a bad colour.

“Look at this… thing!” Potter would say, and Draco would agree wordlessly, or with a syllable, or even once or twice with a carefully echoing laugh. They kept only one pair of shorts and the ugly orange polo, in the end, and those only because Draco murmured something about them being adequate as exercise clothes.

The rest Master _banished_ , even the cheap white socks. Then Draco again put on the traveling clothes he'd left on the chair and waited for Master to do something with them.

“I think I remember you looking good in yellow,” Master said, and brandished his wand. Draco—arms held out in front to see the shirt better—watched as the shirt's colour changed to a whiter, cooler shade.

Potter looked at him with a critical eye. “Better,” he finally said, “but…” one wand movement, the colour changed again, all the coral overtones were gone now. The shirt was almost icy yellow, and Draco stood a bit taller.

This time Master smiled. “Now for the fit,” he mumbled, and the shirt grew tighter until it was only comfortable when Draco was very still and stood perfectly upright.

“Hmm…” Master said, when Draco bent over to put his shoes back on. “Too tight, and the trousers are still rather awful, but it will have to do. I'm sick of fucking with it. Let's go buy you something decent.”

Draco drifted behind Potter as they left the room, took the lift down, got directions to a menswear shop. They walked there together at a remarkably swift pace, keeping up with the tremendous foot traffic on the Manhattan streets.

Potter actually had Draco take his arm, as though they were a heterosexual couple entering a grand ballroom together. Draco refused to analyze this.

Draco couldn't have translated galleons to pounds to dollars in his head, especially not after years of isolation. But the suits Draco touched surreptitiously were very nice quality indeed. All the more telling, the staff in the menswear shop was even more deferential than those in the hotel.

They both fit easily into the large dressing room, where Potter slouched comfortably in an armchair. Draco stood in front of the large three-piece adjustable mirror wearing the third jacket Master had requested the staff bring. Black trousers were simple enough, and a pale cream shirt with French cuffs. Simple, silvery cufflinks had been an easy choice. Little circles, very understated. But Master had suddenly become picky and he'd sneered at the first two jackets.

This one seemed to please him, however. It was navy blue with black lapels, dark enough to look black all over, until Draco stepped into the right light. Then Draco suddenly looked warmer, the jacket more interesting, and the smile Potter requested he wear looked more convincing. Draco tried to look at his reflections critically and humbly. “What would the Buddha say about all this?” he wondered silently, and cracked a small smirk before he could wipe it off his face. All three of his reflections seemed to chastise him.

“We'll get this now,” Master said slowly, standing and walking closer to Draco. “I don't have the patience to stay here any longer. You can shop for more tomorrow while I work.”

He stood up and walked behind Draco to look at their reflection in the triplicate mirror. Draco stood looking impossibly tall and blond next to his dark-haired Master. Potter's hands were on him now, his waist, his lower back; his eyes were on Draco as well. Draco watched as Master's eyes traveled down Draco's reflection, stopping on his chest, his hips, moving back up to Draco's hair, worn in one neat braid down his back.

Then Master took his eyes off Draco's reflection and moved to Draco's body. Master turned, his hands caressing Draco's arse as he pivoted to see more of Draco's body in the fancy new outfit. Draco felt his cock begin to heat and fill.

As though unconscious of what he was doing, Master's hand drifted slowly to Draco's left wrist. He did not look at the leather cuff, only grasped it lightly, feeling the leather and silver letters through the cotton of the crisp cream sleeve. Draco's erection flagged briefly.

“The door is locked already, right?” Master asked softly, and Draco nodded an assent.

“Good,” Master replied, sounding distracted. Together, Draco following his employer's hand gestures, they moved the chair to sit in front of the large three part mirror, facing sideways.

“Put your hands on the armrests,” Potter said quietly. “I'm going to fuck you now.”

Draco obeyed and Master put his wand up his sleeve, then pushed his pelvis into Draco's thighs and reached around to unfasten the black trousers with his fingers. He lingered briefly over Draco's dick, which finished hardening at the Master's careless caress.

When the trousers and new boxers were halfway down Draco's thighs, Master pulled his hands away. Draco felt and heard Potter pull down his own trousers and felt Master stroking his erection, right behind Draco. The head of Master's dick was getting Draco's skin damp already, and he wondered about his knees. His arse was still—always—too high for his short Master.

“Knees on that chair,” Master ordered, and Draco gratefully obeyed. Slowly, so as not to damage the clothing his Master had not yet even paid for.

“Turn your head to the mirrors and watch me fuck my whore,” Master whispered, and cast a light lubrication charm before shoving his dick into Draco.

“Yes sir!” Draco whispered, and his braid fell onto the chair as he watched Potter watching them three times over.

Master was grinning and he looked good, stopping for a second to move the right-most side of the mirror and give Draco a clearer view of the cock sliding in and out of his arse.

“You see that?” Master asked, and Draco nodded.

“You whisper back, whore. No silencing charm, but I want to hear you today. How do I feel in your unworthy little arse?”

“You feel good, sir,” Draco murmured, hoping the volume was what his Master desired.

Potter nodded and pushed inward slowly, until his balls brushed Draco's arse.

“I look good, don't I? Fucking my tall blond whore.” Master pulled out slowly, looking at himself and grinning.

“You are very handsome,” Draco agreed sincerely.

“That's nice,” Master said, sounding pleased and a bit caught off guard. “More of that.”

“I've always thought you handsome,” Draco admitted quietly, unable to think of anything less embarrassing. “Your hair, so black and unruly, no one ever could contain you, control you.”

Master nodded at him in the mirror, fucked him from three directions, and Draco continued, not knowing what else to do.

“Your cock is beautiful,” Draco confessed. “This mirror is brilliant, seeing you and feeling you, three ways, three angles… if you moved this one here I think I could see your balls better. I like them, too. They're really big. I shouldn't have been surprised.”

Master smirked and moved the mirror slightly. “That what you wanted, whore? Can you watch yourself get fucked even better, now?”

“Yes, sir,” Draco said, and wondered if he would blush.

He didn't.

Master sped up. “Shut up now, whore. You've pleased me enough with your little mouth. Now I just want to feel your tight whore arse sucking my cock in, loving my big… cock….”

Draco let a tiny noise of pleasure escape.

“Fuck yeah!” Master husked, perhaps a bit loudly for a dressing room in a fancy store. “Such a… great arse. Tight… ungh…. Stroke your whore cock,” Master bit out into Draco's ear. “Come… all over… that chair!”

They came almost simultaneously, Draco first, then his Master.

Master pulled out and dribbles of his come followed. He waved his wand and cleaned himself up, leaving Draco where he was, perched on the now-dirty armchair, come dripping down his thighs, defiling his braid. Master stepped away and looked at Draco with a sneer of pleasure on his face as he refastened his clothing by hand, wand hidden away again.

“Don't you look fantastic?” Master said. He sounded almost innocent, as though this fact had just occurred to him. As though he meant it as a compliment and was, himself, surprised by that fact. “You're half undressed, thoroughly fucked, covered with my come and yours… I wish I had a camera.”

He reached up and stroked one hand down Draco's back, caressing Draco through the jacket he planned to buy as soon as they left the dressing room.

“Mm…” Master murmured quietly. “You're still a nice tight fuck, whore. That was good.” He left his hand resting on the small of Draco's back and didn't move away or clean anything more.

“Thank you, sir,” Draco said, sensing a response of some sort was desired.

“You may stand,” Master said. As Draco pulled away from the chair Master cleaned it, then the outside of the clothing Draco wore, the chair, the floor, Draco's hair.

“Pull those up and dress,” Master said, but didn't clean Draco's cock, arse or thighs. Draco said nothing, and obeyed.

“I'll go pay for these,” Master said. “Keep them on. Meet me by the door.”

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Expensive hotels turned out to have good mattresses, and with no Liggy to wake Draco after a very long day and a deeply restful night, Potter woke first and was in the shower before Draco awakened, embarrassed to see that the sun was up and he was alone in the bed.

Apprehensive, he thought to offer Potter fellatio in the shower, but the water turned off as Draco was swinging his legs to the floor.

He considered apologizing but Potter liked him quiet, so he simply stood—hands clasped over his flaccid cock, eyes down—and waited between the bed and the ensuite.

“Good, you're awake. Shower fast, whore. I want to check out the breakfast buffet downstairs.”

Breakfast was limited in selection but very tasty and they were waiting in the lobby attempting small talk about it and the hotel décor when the man from Potter's publishing company arrived. His name was Jordan and he was positively obsequious. “Mr Potter!” he said, over and over until Draco wanted to smack him and had to do breathing exercises and try to tune him out instead.

It seemed to take three times as long as it should have for Potter and Jordan to agree that the hotel was very nice, the food was very nice, Master had slept well, Master's 'boyfriend' had slept well – he was just the quiet type, the airplane trip was fine, they had truly preferred to get themselves to the hotel afterwards, and Master was ready and eager to sit at a table in a bookstore all day; smiling at strangers and signing their crackly, shiny new copies of his book. Jordan seemed somewhat frantic to be introduced to Draco, but he and Potter both ignored him.

Finally Master turned to Draco. “I'm sure you heard I'll be busy all day, and they're getting my lunch.” He took his wallet from his pocket, removing two plastic cards and a folded green rectangle. “This is the room key, this is my credit card, and here's a little cash for the subway train and lunch.”

Jordan turned away and took out a mobile, and Draco relaxed a bit. Master lowered his voice a touch and stepped closer.

“Buy yourself enough clothing for three weeks. You do that with this one.” He pulled the credit card to the top of the pile and pointed at it. “There will be some opportunities to have hotels wash our clothes, but it won't be like Liggy. Don't spend more than five hundred pounds. Four hundred would be better.” He frowned and turned to Jordan. “What's the exchange rate between pounds and dollars again?”

Jordan waved his mobile toward Master and answered eagerly. “It's generally something like two dollars to the pound, Mr Potter, but I can get an exact exchange rate for you, if you'd like, Mr Potter?” He started pushing buttons on his mobile as though it knew the answer.

Master turned away from Jordan as he answered “No, that's all right.” Then he looked Draco up and down.

“Most days I will want you at the bookstore with me, so get nice clothes. Don't spend more than nine hundred dollars. A thousand if you absolutely have to. I will meet you back here in the lobby after I finish up at the signing.” Master paused and looked at Draco's hand, clutching the unfamiliar items tightly. Then he looked into Draco's eyes and smiled, very fake. He patted at Draco's hand once and started to walk away. “You'll be fine,” he said, and turned his back on Draco and headed for the door to the street. Jordan followed in his wake, chattering again.

Draco was glad he didn't have to listen to it. He turned toward the counter and the staffers there. Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, he went to ask for assistance with… everything.

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Taking the subway a few miles to what the pretty, flirtatious hotel clerk assured him was a good store for decently priced but handsome menswear turned out to be only slightly less nerve wracking than Draco had feared it would be. The constant press of stressed, rushing Muggles was far worse than their city or their transportation. The city itself, however, was filthy. Everywhere he looked there was plastic garbage, aggressive angry graffiti, crumpled papers, crushed cans, shiny empty wrappers, homeless beggars, yet more plastic garbage, and strange vendors with tables on the street, selling things that looked like trash and treasure mingled.

Draco decided he hated New York.

He nonetheless arrived at H&M in one piece and pushed the door open to find a store with few shoppers and fewer clerks. Just that helped him breathe more easily and he began to examine the clothing. He checked fabric, seams, price tags. The prices here were radically different than they'd been at the shop Master had taken him to the night before. For nine hundred to a thousand American dollars, he realized, he could buy an excellent wardrobe for three weeks, and just in this one store.

Draco began to shop.

He commandeered a large enough dressing room—nothing like the one from last evening, but it would do—and began to accumulate clothing. Once he discovered them, he read the fiber content and wash labels carefully, recalling what Master had said about laundry services in hotels. He checked prices and measured what wandless magic it might take to lengthen sleeves and trouser legs enough to make things fit his elongated frame. Luckily they had several things that would probably fit him without tampering, as wandless magic was a tough resource to measure in advance.

When the dressing room was so full he wondered if he could move around inside it, he tried on everything that wasn't sealed up in a little plastic bag.

He eventually narrowed down his hoard. Multiple pairs of trousers. Two packages of boxer briefs. Plenty of black socks. Two pairs of denims. Two long sleeved, tight fitting casual shirts with long sleeves. Five button-down shirts, all in different solid colours. He picked out a cardigan, a belt, three ties, a vest, and even a hat. He thought perhaps he shouldn't splurge on the hat, but it was attractive enough to try on, and it looked so damn _good_ on him….

Most of all, Draco made certain that every sleeve would cover his new “WHORE” bracelet. If not before a little wandless assistance, then after.

The clerk who rang it all up looked as though Christmas had come early. She flirted sweetly, but Draco ignored her, concentrating instead on the transaction itself. The wandless he'd felt forced to expend, on top of the travel and the uncertainty of being alone in an unfamiliar, Muggle place, had tired him thoroughly.

Had his arithmetic been good? Yes, it came to $678.41. Master would surely be very pleased. He'd spent _far_ less than his limit. Would the clerk accept Master's plastic 'credit card?' Yes, she didn't seem the slightest bit surprised by the plastic rectangle Draco handed her, and started to call Draco 'Harry,' as she continued to flirt.

By the time Draco left H&M with his new hat on his head and two large, heavy bags in his hands, it was past one in the afternoon and he was quite hungry. He stopped at a tiny, ethnic looking restaurant and ate from an incredible Tibetan buffet, spending most of what was left of Harry's paper money. He'd already obtained a return token for the subway, though, and so he indulged his curiosity and bought a copy of _The New York Times_ from a strange metal box.

It wasn't difficult to find his way back to the hotel on the subway and it wasn't difficult to take the lift up to the room he was sharing with his Master. He put away all the clothing in the dresser and closet, and changed into the exercise clothing Liggy had packed.

He still felt a bit too full of Tibetan lunch, so he read the newspaper for twenty minutes before he carefully put the room key in the shorts, borrowed Potter's trainers—remarkably close to the right size, oddly enough—and headed for the exercise room.

As soon as he walked into the hotel's hallway, he became suddenly, painfully aware that his wrist proclaimed him a “WHORE” and he couldn't hide or remove the leather bracelet. He shoved his hands deeply into his pockets and put his head down.

Luckily the gym room was empty when he arrived, but he headed for the furthest corner from the door nonetheless. He needed to buy something to hide the damn bracelet when he exercised. Trainers that fit, too.

He couldn't use just any machine, it turned out. He normally exercised in the nude at Master's house, and here signs chastised that he was not only required to wear clothes but shoes. He'd not wanted to magic Master's shoes larger. He could walk in them all right, but not run on a treadmill.

But he could row, he could lift weights, he could use an exercise bicycle. A woman came in while he was lifting and he felt his face burn when she acknowledged him with a millisecond of eye contact and a short nod. As soon as he thought it would look casual, he moved to the opposite side of the little gym to get away from her. Thankfully, she was the only other person to exercise while he was there.

He spent an hour at the hotel's gym before heading back upstairs to take a long, thorough shower.

The hotel had placed a wealth of posh products in the bathroom and Draco tried every one. He groomed everything thoroughly, getting quite the erection as he carefully cleaned his arse and cock and pubes with a silky, wet goo that was difficult to squeeze from the badly designed little plastic bottle. What was it with Muggles and plastic?

He ignored his penis. It shut up.

Draco dried himself thoroughly with the towel and then retried on nearly half the clothing he'd bought at H&M before finally settling on a narrow pair of navy trousers, a black leather belt, a blue button down that made his eyes look nearly blue, and the cream-coloured cardigan. He carefully re-braided his hair before it could finish drying, and headed to the lobby to get directions to a store that would sell him a decent, inexpensive pair of trainers.

Athletic shoe stores, he discovered to his relief, also sold “wrist bands” of thick, absorbent terry. It wasn't hard at all to find a wide black set that completely covered the “WHORE” bracelet. They looked a bit silly, he thought, but it was infinitely preferable to showing off the bracelet to a gym full of strangers every day.

He couldn't help but blush when he put the black bands on the counter with the trainers, but the clerk just smiled tepidly and rang it all up. The shoes were expensive, but he'd been so frugal with the clothing he thought it would surely be fine.

By the time Master returned from a long day at the bookstore, Draco was sitting rigidly in the lobby in his new clothes, pretending to ignore the stares and occasional whispers by hiding behind _The New York Times_. He'd already gone through the whole paper once and had started back at the beginning to read things that hadn't seemed interesting enough to bother with the first time, when he became aware of Potter entering the lobby. At first he continued running his eyes over the words on the newspaper page, but then he realized playing hard to get for your Master was ludicrous. He put the paper down and folded his hands in his lap, looking up at Potter as he approached.

Potter looked at him for a long moment, silent and appraising, and Draco remained in his armchair, wondering if he should stand.

After a long, uncomfortable pause, Master stepped back and nodded at Draco, who stood, expecting his Master to take him to dinner or suggest that they sit somewhere so Master could complain about his day. The waterfall of talk around them rose and fell and Draco felt like the world was staring at him. Master just looked Draco up and down for another long, uncomfortable pause, then he reached for Draco's left wrist and caressed the “WHORE” bracelet through Draco's shirt and cardigan.

“Come upstairs,” Master finally said. Abandoning the newspaper, Draco followed.

When they got into the lift, Master let go of Draco's wrist, turning to frown up at him. “You looked uncomfortable back there,” he said, sounding annoyed. “What was that about?”

“It's the… those Muggles,” Draco began, coloring when he realized how that would sound. “I've been living such an isolated life for so long. I'm not used to people anymore,” he continued, hoping to counter his first sentence. “And those Muggles won't stop staring at me. I think they were whispering about me to each other. It is embarrassing. Unnerving.” He took a breath to steady himself. “It is as though they know who, or what, I am. As though they know I'm your… whore.”

Master stared at him, then rolled his eyes like a petulant sixth-year. “They don't know you're a sex slave, you stupid whore, they know you're six and a half feet tall and beautiful. With a blonde braid almost down to your waist. That's why they're staring at you.” The lift door opened and they stepped into a deserted hallway. “Hurry up. I'll feed you later. Right now, the way you look, I really want to fuck you. And if you had any money, I would bet you some of it—so did all those Muggles in the lobby.”

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That night they ate dinner at a restaurant in the hotel. Draco couldn't have told you – even while eating it – anything about the cuisine Potter chose for them. He supposed it was what they called “American.” It was not memorable.

Master had fucked him before dinner, not even removing most of their clothing. He had just bent Draco over the end of the bed: trousers and boxer briefs binding his knees. Then after dinner Draco was only required to suck the Master off quickly, not even making it last, not even making it sweet. Potter used Draco's curled tongue and pursed lips like an eager arsehole. Draco took it obediently. Trying not to choke. Strong hands on the back of his head.

Then they both slept, swift and hard, and the second morning was much like the first. The hotel breakfast buffet held exactly the same offerings, but Draco could have agreed – if someone had asked – that apparently they cooked those things well after so much practice.

Just like the first day, Jordan showed up after breakfast, deferential and apologetic and eager. But when Draco tried to pull away unobtrusively to go exercise, Potter nearly barked. “No,” he said, sounding sharp yet controlled in front of Jordan. “You will come with me today. I want you near.”

Draco did not want to know how Jordan would react to Master's command over him, and he followed without speaking, looking at their feet in front of him, climbing into the back seat of the small, fog-coloured car.

The drive was long and Draco attempted to amuse himself by counting things. Bridges, graffito, purple cars, yellow cars. But the city was so choked to overflow that he quickly saw: nothing was unique enough to count. Most of the cars, indeed, were the color of weather: snow, mist, sky. The city was full of cars that appeared to wish they were insubstantial and could float away. Draco could sympathize. 

They arrived at the bookstore before it opened, and were ushered in through the back. Master handed Draco his blazer and Draco draped it over his arm absently, wondering what the hell was expected of him today. Jordan was hovering and getting in the way, and Draco pulled back in deliberate contrast. He leaned against the closest bookshelf – an enormous and impressive display of cookery books – here called cookbooks – as Potter got comfortable at a table piled high with identical orange and green hardbacks.

Potter signed a few books while Jordan fussed with his mobile, apparently conflicted between a desire to be near and to stay out of the way until actually needed. “Get me a coffee, will you?” Potter suddenly asked the book he was signing, and Draco and Jordan both moved.

Master looked up and saw Draco's patient frown, Jordan's irritating confusion. He sighed.

“Teach me how to use the coffee maker, then,” Draco requested. Jordan hesitated, then nodded slowly.

The coffee maker in the tiny back staffroom was easy enough to use, but Potter frowned at the offering Draco finally placed on the table. He sniffed it, sipped it, then made a face. He handed Draco the credit card. “Just get me a Starbucks and a muffin, will you?”

Potter had Draco spend the entire day close enough to see him if he looked up. Unless he was fetching yet another coffee, of course. He paged through a lot of the cookery books.

The line of people wanting to talk to Master, to have a book signed, to praise and flatter and advise and even occasionally harangue, never got that long – from perhaps thirty people at the most down to one or two at the quietest. But Potter was busy drinking up the attention and adoration all day. It was strange to see the side of Potter he'd abhorred and envied through Hogwarts and then nearly forgotten existed through hermit years at The Hideaway.

Draco knew eventually something would break. Potter was such an attention whore today. He would never withstand all this worship without dominating someone. So when the line finally dwindled and he was unceremoniously marched to the back room and pushed to his knees, the only thing that surprised him was the exhaustion in Potter's eyes.

Draco closed his own and stroked his Master's balls instead of thinking about anything more complicated, and Potter came quickly with a quiet grunt followed by an even quieter sigh.

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After two days in Manhattan, one day in Brooklyn, and a day spent in an enormous bookstore on Long Island that smelled of bad potpourri, Jordan drove them back to the hotel and reminded Master that he would return after lunch the next day to drive them to the airport. Even New York City only required four days of appearances. Next, two days of book signing in Boston. Then a few more places Draco didn't bother to note the names of.

Draco kept his mouth shut and waited to see what Master wanted. For him to exercise, then shower, then accompany Master to a late dinner, apparently. But not to eat a great deal. Something was coming.

They returned to the hotel room just after 10pm, and Master stripped Draco nude with his own hands. Then they got into the shower together and Draco was instructed to masturbate, to get hard, even to come. He was not permitted to come the second time, however, until Potter's heavy cock was deep in his arse.

As unusual as much of this was, Draco's days in New York had been so unusual already that he gave this new, strange order no thought.

Draco was then washed, dried, and dressed in a black mesh singlet, delicate black leather boots (these required a good bit of magic to fit, his feet were far narrower than Master had apparently realized), and a black thong that looked almost plasticky. “Polyester,” Master explained unhelpfully, and Draco nodded as though this meant something to him. Over this Potter put a knee-length black trench coat of very low quality and belted it tightly enough around Draco's waist to force a gasp out of even Draco's well-trained mouth. The sleeves of the trench were just long enough to completely cover Draco's “WHORE” bracelet, as long as Draco didn't lift or reach with his arm.

Then Potter dressed in dark black denims without one visible inch of wear, heavy black boots, a black button-down over a black tshirt, and his own, far nicer trench coat.

He side-alonged them to an alley that smelled of piss and vomit at first, and then, as they walked toward a street light, Draco's trained nose teased out both iron and copper undertones. Blood.

He steeled himself, nearly naked under his trench, chilled in the night air, and headed for who knows where that smelled how many kinds of dangerous.

Hopefully Master wanted to continue to have a sex slave. A whole one.

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	16. Sixteen

Strict Interpretation looked like a bar from the outside, but inside it was a little different than Draco had expected -- even knowing what they both wore.

It was well lit at the entryway, and they got into a short line to check their coats. Draco stared at the floor, realizing that he would soon be exposed to a room full of strangers, wearing little better than sexy underthings and a bracelet declaring him a whore.

Soon Potter noticed that Draco wasn’t looking around, however, and tipped Draco's chin up with one firm finger.

“Pay attention,” was all he said.

There were people everywhere, it seemed. Most wore black, a few wore red, one or two wore white. All looked good. It also appeared that everyone present was either a Master or a slave. So, then.

He watched one woman submit to a spanking from what appeared to be a man, until “he” turned around and Draco saw her Master was actually a tall woman with broad shoulders and large breasts.

He saw a man, hands tied behind his back, sucking two cocks.

He saw a woman hanging in what appeared to be a rope web, fully nude, wildly tattooed, and submitting to a beating with a large leather cat-o-nine-tails. The skin of her back, arse, and thighs was rosy.

He hadn’t even been aware that he _had_ expectations until he caught himself noting with surprise, for at least the third time, that the “slaves” in this place were all sexually excited. Hard nipples, moans of pleasure. That one there, with a cock in her mouth and a man fucking her wide open… her lover’s condom was nearly dripping with her natural juices.

Draco swallowed as he handed his coat over, wondering how he fit in.

Potter plucked at Draco's bracelet and Draco followed him to the bar at the corner. The large list of beverages over the bartender’s head contained no alcohol at all, to Draco's surprise, and his Master ordered him a small glass of cold orange juice.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, assuming that much speech was desirable. Potter leaned over as he lifted the glass and warned him quietly. “It’s nothing like pumpkin,” and Draco could only nod. He’d tried orange juice for the first time just the other morning at the hotel breakfast buffet, but apparently Potter had not noticed.

Draco sipped the juice as Potter ordered himself a tomato juice, and the two of them managed to snag the only table with a view of almost the whole space. Draco suspected magic was involved, but he hadn’t actually seen his Master cast.

The two of them nursed their drinks for long enough that others began to approach. Potter politely rebuffed three men and one woman, until they were approached by a tall, broad-shouldered, ginger man. He lead a leashed man behind, a short slave with a long, fuzzy, brown ponytail.

Potter gestured at a empty chair nearby, and the large man politely borrowed it from a table where only one person sat. He straddled the chair backwards, knees wide apart, and his slave knelt at his left knee, nearer to Draco. The red-haired Master put a hand on the little man’s shoulder, and the slave closed his eyes and seemed to relax. Draco thought he could see a smile.

“You new in town?” the big man asked, and Potter nodded once, then clarified.

“Visiting,” he said. “Leaving soon.”

“British?” the other Master asked. Draco watched him caress his slave’s shoulder.

Potter just nodded and finished his juice.

“Just taking in the sights, then?” the other Master asked politely.

Potter didn’t answer right away. He looked deep into the redhead’s eyes, and the other man simply sat quietly and let him.

“I was,” Potter finally answered. “But now… I think I might be ready for more. There is a… sight, in particular, that I would quite like to see.”

The other Master smiled and put both forearms on the table. “I’m intrigued,” he replied.

They waited their turn and it wasn’t long before Draco was on his back on a table of sorts. His legs were held up high, spread unnaturally far and wide, strapped tightly to strange looking extensions. His arse hung off the table slightly, which hurt his lower back. He gripped the edges of the table and tried to relieve the pressure on his back and legs. The red-haired man put on a condom and some lube, pulled the thong aside, and didn’t stretch Draco's arse at all before he began to enjoy it.

Draco couldn’t make much of a sound in response to the discomfort, as his mouth was stuffed full of the brown-haired slave’s condom covered dick.

He closed his eyes.

But he was nonetheless intimately aware of his Master, walking around, enjoying this “show” he’d devised, from every possible angle.

He counted Master’s footsteps and tried not to gag on the slave’s annoyingly long and slender penis.

He wondered if he would get hard if his Master touched him, but Potter did not touch him even once, and his cock remained as limp as old lettuce.

It felt like an age before the Master fucking him finally lost his rhythm and came, sharp hipbones pressing deep into Draco's upturned, stretched out buttocks.

The slave _still_ had not ejaculated, but Draco realized this must have been by design when his Master called him over and pulled off his condom, masturbating the little slave’s dick for him until he came with whispered permission, panting and moaning “Sir, Sir!” as he spurted come all over Draco's arse and flaccid cock.

Draco opened his eyes only to find himself at the other end of his own Master’s probing, piercing eyes. Potter’s face was unreadable and Draco felt his guts go from churning hot to ice cold.

Potter said nothing, merely giving the other slave a pointed look and a nod toward Draco. The young man nodded and, once his Master also nodded at him, quickly cleaned Draco off with something damp, before unbuckling the straps that had been holding Draco's legs and arse open for fucking.

Draco stood shakily, one hand on the table, and the other slave cuddled into his Master’s left side.

“That is an extremely fine sub you have there,” the other Master said, reaching to shake Potter’s hand.

Potter looked at the other man’s hand with some alarm and the man laughed. “I cleaned up!” he said, and pointed to a small rubbish bin under the table, full of crumpled, white cloths.

Potter shook the other Master’s hand and the man didn’t want to let go for an almost awkward moment.

“It’s a real honor to have fucked him,” the other Master said, speaking now in a more subdued voice. “It’s only polite that I offer you my own sub’s ass in return. I can’t promise it’s as tight and sweet as this one’s, but it’s yours for the taking, if you’d like. I believe you’ll enjoy him.”

He gestured at his slave, who smiled lovingly at his Master, turned to grip the table with his hands, and presented his naked arse to Potter.

Draco could only stare.

“You are too kind,” Potter said quietly. “But I’ve all I need. I think I’ll be taking my own… sub… home now. But thank you again. That was… most stimulating. Just what he and I both needed.”

The Masters nodded at each other and Potter pulled Draco away from the table. They collected their coats, headed for the alley, and were back in the hotel room in seconds.

“On your knees,” Potter barked as soon as they arrived, and Draco fell fast enough to hurt.

“Trench off. Open my clothes. Suck my cock!”

Obeying, Draco allowed himself the thought that, having just produced and directed what amounted to a personal, custom, porn film starring his slave, Potter would come far faster than usual.

He was quite wrong.

Ten minutes later, lower back and thighs still aching, knees newly aching, jaw beginning to sting, Draco was at a loss as to how to make his Master spurt come down Draco's throat.

Master didn’t seem upset at all, though, as Draco employed every trick he’d learned to get Potter off through the years. Draco hummed, sucked Master’s balls, reached up to tease his Master’s nipples through the fabric of his shirt, and varied his rhythm over and over, hoping to find one that would let him get off the floor.

After a few more minutes, Draco realized with horror that he was so tired and distracted, that his technique – and teeth – were slipping.

Master noticed as well, it seemed, but he smiled down at Draco's weary, aching jaw. “I own that throat there, don’t I?” he murmured. “Because _you_ belong to _me_. And I want to come down that throat I own. Mine. So turn your head like you do when it’s time to deep throat, slave. I am going to fuck what’s mine.”

Thankfully Master came soon after, quietly moaning “mine,” over and over, as he fucked Draco's face so deeply and fast that it was all Draco could do to stay still and be a good fuckhole.

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Draco didn’t wake until his Master began to fuck him late the next morning. Then he was shooed off to exercise while Potter slept in. They showered together on his return from the gym, and Potter silently fucked him in the white hotel tub. Master didn’t jerk him off, but caressed his cock throughout, as though constantly checking the status of Draco’s erection.

Draco came with his Master, to his relief.

After a very late brunch Jordan drove them to the airport and apologetically left them and their bags on the kerb.

They found the magical section of the airport, although with some difficulty, and portkeyed to Boston.

The flight the publishing company had booked for them was only an hour, so they whiled away a bit of time in a bookshop, where Potter pressed the manager for marketing information without allowing the woman to know who he was.

The man was quite extraordinary with a wand. A veritable wizard.

Draco snickered into his sleeve, facing the wall. Stupid puns should be kept to oneself, always. But especially when one was a slave.

In Boston the publishing company’s flunkie was a no-nonsense woman named Astrid. She wore a navy blue skirt suit and matching leather court shoes. Her dark honey hair was swept into a severe chignon and smelled a bit strange. Draco couldn’t understand how even _hair_ could look and smell like plastic.

As with Jordan, Draco was not introduced to Astrid.

He sat in the back and let their conversation wash over him. Boston was a little cleaner than New York, and there was a bit less traffic. Otherwise, big cities were apparently all alike, and Draco did not like them. The hotel was exactly like the last hotel: glass outside; cardboard and plastic inside.

That night was quiet, and the next day was spent in a bookstore so large Draco couldn’t see from one end to the other without walking. But that night Master wanted a repeat of the sex club experience from New York.

This time they came together once in the bed, and then Master got Draco off in the bath. Apparently Draco was not to be allowed any chance of an erection while being defiled by strangers. Draco wondered about this for a moment before he caught himself and blanked his mind with a breathing exercise and then some counting.

This one was called Prometheus and had a fire theme.

This time a female slave rubbed her clit against his ass while her female Master fucked him with a huge, bumpy rubber strap-on. His cock stayed bent and soft, mashed between his body and the padded fucking table.

They spent a day and then a night in Cincinnati, Ohio. They relaxed for two days in Madison, Wisconsin before finally doing a day of signings and then a night in the Dells where Draco got handcuffed to a wall, whipped rosy, and ejaculated on. Then they were on to Chicago, where he spent the first night eating and sleeping, and his second night getting fucked by two separate strangers at Stocks and Bonds, apparently on the edge of the financial district. Austin, Texas meant a night at Sun and Moon after a day at a huge University of Texas bookstore. Phoenix was a day of signing and a night confined to a sex club’s sling while other men fucked him and Potter watched greedily. Las Vegas was another day of relaxation followed by only a few hours of book signing -- people in Vegas didn’t seem as interested in books -- and then after an early supper, a night on his knees, handcuffed and sucking off five different strangers wearing condoms. Los Angeles meant three days of book signings in three corners of a huge city. They spent their last night in LA at a small, ugly club just called The Black Door.

Last but not least, San Francisco. This club was all gay men, and Draco again found himself sucking cocks all night before Potter took him back to the hotel to fuck him hard and come all over his face.

Some cities were filthy and some looked, comparatively, clean. If he’d been asked, Draco would have expressed the opinion that of all of them, the only city worse than New York was Los Angeles.

Days were spent hovering obediently near Potter in bookstores. Nights were spent obediently servicing strangers. If anything changed from city to city, it was only that his Master got slightly angrier, looked at him more frequently in each subsequent bookstore, and forced more strangers on him in each new club. He wouldn’t be able to change it if he could understand it, and he wouldn’t be able to understand it if he tried, so he breathed in and then out again to a count of one hundred ten and let the question float out of his mind like a feather on the breeze.

Breathing exercises aside, though, by the time they portkeyed back to Heathrow Draco had so thoroughly lost his equilibrium he felt like he’d gone hollow. Or, rather, a once hollow thing now filled with rotting, diseased come from men all over a dirty, scribbled-on, plastic-covered continent.

Even if they had all been wearing condoms. He couldn’t shake the image. He found himself wondering how Pansy had stood it, then violently pushed the memory of her from his mind.

Potter sent him to his room and he was allowed to sleep for sixteen hours before Liggy woke him with a snarl. “Master want you in fireplace room. _Now_.”

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Draco had been through enough in America that he’d completely forgotten the suitcase full of ugly, ill-fitting clothes that Liggy had packed for him. Potter had _Vanished_ and then replaced them, and that had been the last time Draco had bothered to consider them. He had no power in this household, why bother to hold onto grudges? He might have accomplished nothing else with his now years-long study of Buddhism, but at least he felt he’d managed this.

Potter, however, held nearly all the power in the household. And, as it turned out, he _had_ remembered Liggy’s suitcase full of “monstrosities.”

Draco sat at Master Harry’s feet, staring at the floor, feeling his employer’s hand stroke his head gently, and listening with increasing shock as Master castigated Liggy for years worth of “overstepping her bounds.”

“You’ve become increasingly manipulative, Liggy. Don’t think I haven’t noticed, because I have.” Master learned forward and his hand tightened in Draco's braid for a moment before releasing back into a caress. “I won’t have it. I’ll trade you for another house elf if I have to.”

Liggy’s seething rage and abject misery combined to feel like a _Crucio_ speeding for Draco's heart. He stared at the floor and tried not to wonder about tomorrow.

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Master Harry seemed to understand that he’d put Draco in a vulnerable position with regards to Liggy, and – at Master’s explicit instruction -- the two men were damn near inseparable for over a week. They had no memorable conversations, but Potter wanted Draco in his bed or at his feet at all times. They exercised together, read together, ate together -- still with Liggy -- and slept together every night. More dramatic by far, however, was the way his employer -- after just one morning’s prompt 7am blowjob -- told Liggy and Draco that he and his whore would be sleeping in for the foreseeable future.

“I’m taking a break from writing. I’ll be doing a few more appearances for _Quilted Thorns_ in the UK, but otherwise, I need a little holiday.”

Liggy had bowed silently and left the room, but Draco saw her glare at him with poison now, whenever she knew she wouldn’t be seen by their Master.

Clearly, things would have to change soon. Between his own passivity and lack of voice, Master’s normal obliviousness and selfish nature, and Liggy’s gift for manipulation -- surely she’d only become so obvious because no one had ever challenged any of her previous machinations? -- Draco truly couldn’t guess what the future would hold for the three of them, no matter how his employer was behaving at the moment.


	17. Seventeen

The first time Master Harry _Apparated_ away for an evening of book promotion, Liggy left Draco alone. Master Harry had seemingly forgotten to protect him from her, but she nonetheless didn’t take the chance. Not that time. They ate their separate dinners and when Master Harry came home Draco was waiting for him in bed, naked and deferential.

The second time Master left, he went to Edinburgh for the day. He left instructions that Liggy was to ask nothing of Draco. Yet, when he returned in the early evening he snapped at Draco repeatedly. Why was he wearing that? It was ugly. Why was he sitting on a chair? He should sit on the floor. Why would he offer a backrub? What Harry needed was obviously exercise. Why wasn’t he coming along to exercise too?

That night he fucked Draco twice, and didn’t use enough lube. For the second fuck, he didn’t bother adding any lube at all.

Draco's arsehole hurt through half the next day and it seemed as though Liggy grinned silently every time Draco winced. Otherwise, however, Liggy left him alone.

The third time Harry left, he told Liggy he would be gone overnight, visiting Molly and Arthur. He hugged Draco goodbye, bent him down enough to kiss his temple. “I can’t bring a whore into Molly’s home,” he apologized.

Draco sat down to dinner without Liggy and found a manuscript and a red pencil at his place. “Gets to work!” she snapped at him, and shrugging, he obeyed. It did seem strange, but he was accustomed to obedience: years of being required to assist in the kitchen, later being offered Harry’s novels, and more recently being asked for occasional assistance with a word choice, or the structure of a sentence.

Draco was also accustomed to his Master’s ever-changing whims, and tonight he’d been gentle and affectionate. Assuming this task was more about keeping him busy than anything else, Draco picked up the pencil and wondered if he remembered anything about grammar, spelling, or sentence structure anymore.

He was still striving to find helpful comments to make the next afternoon when Harry reappeared and flew into a rage. _How dare you presume! Nothing but a whore! What were you thinking! You little bitch!_

He whipped Draco with a belt, then fucked him without lube, then made Draco suck him off after he drank a potion – but without first having cleaned his cock of what it found in Draco's hole.

When Master’s tantrum was finally over, Draco vomited uncontrollably into the toilet while Harry wrung his hands and made apologetic noises. Then he kept Draco next to him for nine days, uninterrupted. Neither went further from the house than the garden and creek. Liggy was furiously ordered to her iron her ears when Harry finally bothered to ask for the whole story.

The look of shock on her face didn’t fully wear off, Draco thought, for three days.

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How long did this insanity of vacillation last? A year? Two? Draco was working hard not to know. Master Harry would hold Draco closer and closer until something inside him snapped, and then the punishments would rain down. Sometimes Liggy managed to manipulate the Master into it, other times it seemed to come from the Master quite independently. Either way, as soon as it became clear, Draco realized that the cycle repeated without fail. Trapped, he shut down as best he could.

Master spent more time out, alone. Sometimes with various Weasleys, never bringing Draco along, and always being erratic and snappish when he returned. But he was also often quite clingy for a day or two after. It made Draco wonder what those visits were like. He was never invited.

Draco's heart went colder and drier. He stopped reading. When his Master didn’t need him he just slept, exercised, or meditated. He found he could easily go over a week without saying a single word. He wasn’t sure he could remember quite exactly how to smile. Breathing exercises became as much a part of his life as breathing itself. Meditation brought only blissful emptiness. A separation from obsession, from a pathetic “love” that ate his dignity, yet would not end, would not die. It began to feel that the only parts of him that worked anymore were his lungs and his cock.

He stopped going out to watch the brook.

Eventually Harry started working on a new book, but it stalled. _Quilted Thorns_ had been out in paperback for a few months and Master Harry’s publisher had started to press for another manuscript. But Master deleted chapter after chapter. Some days he would stare at his screen for nearly an hour, typing nothing, then _Apparate_ away without a word; or he might scream at no one, standing in the garden, holding onto Draco's braid. Draco would kneel and bow his head and wait, hoping that – this time – his Master wouldn’t do anything rougher than yank at his hair.

Usually he would pace and pace until he needed to climb into bed and be held, or until he needed to yell at Draco – seemingly just for existing near Master Harry. Sometimes he would threaten violence. Only twice he kicked at Draco, but when he saw Draco fall and clutch his side and wheeze, he would _levitate_ Draco back into the house and cry over his whore’s aching body until they both fell asleep.

Draco felt helpless, unlike anything he’d ever experienced – worse than his father, worse than Voldemort, worse than the indifferent guards and cold, wet walls and implacable schedule of Azkaban. He withdrew ever further into his own head. Outside of the motions associated with sex, he realized there was nothing so easy and automatic as emptying his mind, bowing his head down, closing his eyes, and closing away from anything that wasn’t a direct, clear order; a command: "lean over the desk," "get on your knees now," "spread your arse open for me."

Despite everything, Potter’s cock in him was still the only thing that made him feel something he could reasonably call “alive.”

Draco did everything he could not to reflect on this truth. When he found himself thinking about it anyway, he burned uselessly with shame and grief. Only meditation, breathing exercising, or the gentle touch of Master Harry could dampen that misery.

Eventually Potter took him to S&M sex clubs again, but they hid in corners, went home early, ignored all flirtation and interest. This was as much a relief as it was a source of confusion.

Years of Draco's powerlessness melted into months of Master Harry writing nothing he would keep.

Then came the overwhelming, terrifying day when Master Harry opened his eyes, looked at Draco, and _saw_ him.

“I can’t write anymore.”

Draco looked back nervously into his employer’s eyes and said nothing, made no sudden moves.

“I need to write about myself again. But this time I need to be more honest. I keep trying to evade…” Master paused and then cringed. He started again, looking determined. “No. Really, I keep trying to lie, and so all I write is shit.”

Draco watched Potter speak and carefully said nothing.

“They’ve all been about me, but of course, you could tell that much.”

Draco had been able to tell no such thing, and his face must have revealed it, because his employer reacted. He seemed nervous and apologetic at first. Jumping to his feet and twisting his hands about, he made excuses for Draco's blindness.

“Well, perhaps you never knew about my childhood? We always did try to hide that. But the first book, that was all about growing up with my horrible aunt and all?”

Draco's eyes widened. A horrible aunt? Like Bellatrix? His employer had a bad childhood? The bad childhood of that _book_?! But he’d felt intense sympathy for the sweet, abused character: Richard. Poor little Ricky…. He’d always vaguely, blithely assumed his Master had been raised in adoration and luxury….

“The second one, of course that was about growing up for real, with Hermione and Ron. And Dumbledore, of course, although he wasn’t a character so much as the magic in the magical realism. What with the way the magic was so unpredictable, you know.” He paused but Draco stayed silent. “You know, just like Dumbledore, right? Sometimes helping more than I would have thought possible, sometimes getting completely in the way….”

Dumbledore? Didn’t always help Harry Potter? Didn’t he coddle Potter? Clear his path? When had he ever been in Potter’s way? That wasn’t what it had felt like to Draco at Hogwarts….

Master tipped his head and looked at Draco who clearly still looked lost, because Potter looked affronted, then started to make excuses. “Well, I guess you could miss that, after all, it’s disguised as best I could make it, and I just dealt with the stresses, I didn’t actually put any of the real stuff in there, the War, and all. It’s all so metaphorical I guess I see how you could miss it….”

Then Potter paused and sat down, pulled his chair halfway across the room, stared Draco in the face for a long, uncomfortable moment. Draco forced himself not to look at the floor.

“But… obviously you could tell that my recurring nightmare character: Misster Ssnapp… was supposed to be Professor Snape?”

Honestly, this had never once occurred to Draco, but now that Master Harry said it… recognition was probably dawning on his face, but Master was not looking appeased.

Draco, suddenly distracted, was wondering how he could have read all of these books over and over again and never once picked up on these themes. Despite being obsessed with the author for almost his entire life. Despite the novels apparently being transparent as glass.

Master was still staring into Draco's stupid face, Draco realized, as he returned to attention.

“I… what, Sir?”

Potter stared at Draco. “You couldn’t tell… but he’s in three of my books! You’ve read them all obsessively! They’re all intensely autobiographical!”

“They _all_ are? I was starting to wonder….”

“Wonder?” Potter bellowed. “Wonder!” He rocketed to his feet and began to circle the room. The chair he’d leapt from wobbled but didn’t fall.

“How could you have… how could _I_? Bloody hell, you don’t know me at all.”

Indignant, Draco wished he could rise to his own feet and his full height. Instead, he raised his head.

“I know you as well as you have permitted,” he said, feeling insulted, defiant, and vulnerable. He wasn’t sure where this impudence was coming from, except that he had nothing to lose anymore, surely? And the way his employer had really _looked_ at him just a few moments ago… it almost seemed like he could actually have something to gain….

“As well as…” Master spluttered. “That’s such total bullshit, Malfoy! You’ve read all my books, you’ve lived here for… well, years now! I’m a… an open book!” He laughed, eyes wide, with a tinge of hysteria. Draco remained still. “I hide _nothing_ from you!”

“You _tell_ nothing to me, also,” Draco ventured with more bravery than he’d expected to find.

Liggy was behind Master Harry, standing in the doorway. Draco made sure not to look at her.

“Tell, you? Why should I fucking tell you anything? You’re just my whore!”

Draco couldn’t stand it anymore, and now he stood. “No one said you had to tell me anything, _Sir_ , but if you don’t, then why are you angry at me for not knowing?”

“Well, because…” Master seemed caught. “Because you’re my whore! You live here and… and you’re not stupid, Malfoy. You never have been and we both know it!” He looked confused and triumphant, and Draco caught a glimpse of Liggy, still in the doorway, standing a little taller. Hatred for the power she held over him, and for the way she still – after everything, after warnings – manipulated Harry against him, filled his belly and made him feel reckless. He looked back at his Master and spoke a little louder.

“You think I should know you? _Sir_? Well, I do. I may not know what you _thought_ I should know. I may not know what you _wanted_ me to know. But yes, I know you. I know you better than you know yourself. Except I only know the parts of you that you have _shown_ me. I don’t know anything you might have chosen to _tell_ me. You have told me nothing of yourself. Intentionally. But know you? I know you.”

The words ‘Because I love you’ rose up in his mind. For a moment it seemed they might escape in the angry torrent Draco couldn’t believe he’d released, but – blessedly – he retained that moronic secret.

Potter gave Draco a challenging look: indignant and hurt. Draco began ticking off what he knew on his fingers.

“One: you have a fucked up relationship with fame. You want to be acknowledged, you want to be loved, and yet you want to hide from the world like a dragon guarding treasure, which you will never let anyone else see, let alone touch or share. You even named this damn house The Hideaway.

“Two: you l-love me,” he swallowed, but continued, “while you simultaneously hate me. You sleep wrapped around me all night. And then during the day you want me close enough to touch at almost all times. And yet, if you have a real conversation with me, if you let me know you occasionally think of me as more than a body to fuck at will, one of us has to be punished.

“And you have no idea who I really am. Hell, _Sir_ ,” -- Potter winced at the respectful moniker – “ _ **I**_ have no idea who I am anymore. Which certainly could be attributed to you!”

Draco stopped talking, suddenly terrified, but then again he saw Liggy standing in the doorway behind their Master. Potter seemingly could not see her and Draco found – to his surprise – that he could draw strength from that.

“Three: that’s why you whored me out all those nights on your American book tour. You were simultaneously begging the universe for someone to recognize _Potter the famous author_ , and at the same time if anyone had said a word about it you’d have run away in a heartbeat. Not to mention, you couldn’t bear to go to America without me, but I had to be punished for being that important to you. To your… your sense of happiness, equilibrium, and self worth. So while you wouldn’t let Charlie Weasley touch me with a ten foot fucking pole, half the doms in America fucked me and you never once asked my opinion on the matter.”

He took a deep breath and saw two faces staring at him in astonishment.

“Four: as a matter of fact, you have the most fucked up relationship with love, ever. The Weasleys love you, so you avoid them like Avada three hundred sixty days a year. Your publisher cares about you, so you turn every interaction with him into a fight of epic proportions. Hell, even Liggy loves you, in her own little fucked up way. And you encourage it from her while simultaneously never acknowledging anything. She’s more than a house elf, she’s practically a wife. And you made it that way!”

Harry winced and opened his mouth, but then he closed it. Liggy looked nearly murderous, but held her tongue with Master right there.

“Five: you want to be a part of our world, but the wizarding world has a thrall over you that you hate intensely and don’t know what to do with. Does a single wizarding bookstore carry your work? Do any wizards even know you’re an author, other than the Weasleys, Pansy and me? And yet you live as fully in the wizarding world as anyone I have ever met, when you aren’t meeting with your publisher, or on tour. Other than the laptop and that mobile phone, this house is completely magical. No one has so much as _come to the front door_ for as long as I have lived here!

“I do know you, H J Potter. I don’t know your life before school, or after the war while I was in Azkaban, I don’t know what your Weasley and Granger are up to, and I don’t know who broke you, but I do know you.

“And here’s something else. You want to know who doesn’t know whom around here? What’s my favourite colour, Potter? What do I dream about at night? Why did I read all of your Buddhism books? Do I miss Pansy? Hell, Potter, what’s my fucking _middle name_? You know _nothing_ about me!”

By the time Draco finished his tirade, Potter was sitting on the ottoman, head in hands. He could have been laughing, crying, spitting mad… Draco had no idea. But it felt good to get all that out. Even if it meant a hell storm of punishment he could hardly imagine. Draco relaxed his arms and stood still. He closed his eyes and started inhaling to a count of… he’d figure it out when he got there.


	18. Penultimate

Wakinghim ch 18

Draco had resented Potter beyond reason when they were children, but he could see with the hindsight of adulthood that the man wasn’t who he had thought he was at all. His Master hated publicity, even now, when it was required in order to sell his books. He’d been a genuine hero back then, doing it all for his friends and from the pure moral righteousness of his own heart.

No wonder Draco had loathed him.

Master lifted his eyes, still covering much of his face with his hands. “It was Snape,” he said mysteriously, and then he began to pace again. This time, however, at least he was speaking. Draco and Liggy listened intently.

“He was ‘ _displeased_ ’ with our lack of progress, and he tracked the three of us down. Captured all three of us one morning. Gloated at us about how easy it had been, what pathetic targets we were. How badly we’d hidden ourselves.

“After a few hours he sent Ron and Hermione off. He had a Pensieve memory of Dumbledore, and Hermione was convinced – so Ron went along – and the two of them went off to… well,” Potter lowered his eyebrows into a scowl and shut his mouth for a moment. “Do something Dumbledore had wanted.”

A shiver ran down Draco's spine. There were things about the Dark Lord’s deeply evil nature that his employer apparently still carried as a burden on behalf of the whole wizarding world. He fought an urge to offer a backrub or a blow job, and stayed silent. Potter continued. This was already uncomfortable for all of them, but Potter had apparently needed to get this off his chest for years, and Draco could handle listening, at least.

“Me, though… me he kept. He said I needed to learn how to kill. He… he kept me captive, as it were. For seven months.”

All three of them took a moment to absorb that. Master Harry seemed to hope someone would interrupt, looking fleetingly from one to the other, then the floor, but neither of his slaves dared. Draco was afraid anything he did might stop the flow of words, of revelation. He’d loved Harry for so many years, and barely known what made him tick. Though he was squirming inside, he was almost desperate to hear it: every word the man was willing to finally release.

“In the end it was like… like he pruned away parts of my soul. He thought they were… ‘unhelpful toward our desired end’.”

Harry rolled his eyes and then wiped at one. Draco refused to believe it could have been a tear.

“After a while I suppose I just went along with it. Thanks to memories Dumbledore left, we all thought I had to die, which I guess I sort of did… we just never thought I’d also come back. Or not really die, or half-die… I really have to figure out what that was or I will never manage to write my next book.” He stared out the window for a long moment, and his slaves stayed silent, barely breathing, afraid to break the spell of confession. Afraid anything they might do could stop the words they had all three needed, for longer than anyone could count.

“Right. Anyway. So, er, Snape taught me how to kill, and I changed. Everything changed. Why not, right?” He stared out the window. “I was never meant to live. And I suppose I’ve never gone back to the person I used to be.”

Draco didn’t have a single thought in his head. His mind spun uselessly and he looked at his Master, waiting for more words.

“I killed people. I cast a lot of Unforgivables. The other order members only _Stunned, Petrified, Incarcerated_. But me? I killed during the battle. Snape’s training kicked in and lesser spells never entered my mind.

“I guess the whole Wizarding world knows I didn’t really kill Voldemort, the whole wand technicality thing. Snape and I certainly hadn’t expected that.”

He paused and looked toward Draco. “Funny how important you ended up being, huh? I guess no one ever gave you any credit for that.” He paused thoughtfully, looking at – through – Draco. Then he shook his head firmly, waving a hand at the air, dismissing a tangent. Apparently he was determined to get out at least the bare bones of his story.

“But, like I said, the others just took prisoners. And I didn’t kill Voldemort. But no one talks about the three Death Eaters I took out in order to get to that place where I was facing Voldemort down, ready to die.”

“The wizarding world just… erased that part of my life. Of who I am and what I can be. They just… don’t want to know.”

Master suddenly stopped staring out the window and turned, really seeming to _see_ Liggy in the doorway for the first time. He turned then, and looked carefully at Draco as well. “Leave him alone,” he said firmly. “Don’t do anything mean to him while I’m gone, Liggy. You hear me?” His eyes never left Draco's face. Liggy probably nodded or something, and Master – still staring at Draco – snapped at her. “I said, did you hear me?”

“Yes, sir!” Liggy yelped. “Yes!”

“Good,” Potter replied, his shoulders going down. He sighed silently. “Good. Because I need to… I need to go away. Just, for… I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. A while, maybe. A few hours, a few days. I… need to be alone.”

He raised his wand and twisted out of existence like a soap bubble.

Draco took his first deep breath all day.

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So. Harry Potter wasn’t who anyone thought he was. Draco began to wonder if he had ever forgiven himself for that.

Draco wondered if Potter had ever even tried.

Draco had taken a risk by spilling his own pain and frustration, but still, he felt sure that he was nobody’s fool. Firstly, he knew what a big step Potter’s confession represented. Master had not discussed this part of his life with anyone except maybe Granger and a couple of Weasleys. And he was allowing Draco in? and Liggy heard it all too, of course. Master hadn’t been aware of her at first, but she’d been there through the whole confessional.

This opening up could mean a sea change. A complete rearrangement of Harry and Draco’s lives. It could be very good for both of them, if Master Harry didn’t retreat back into his shell again. And if Liggy didn’t turn the situation to her own advantage. Draco would have to make sure that did not happen.

Draco realized that his Master knew only that he couldn’t write another book without delving into this with someone. But Draco knew that a great deal more than a mere career depended on this. Master had been a hermit for many years now, shunning love in nearly every form. If he had any chance at taking back the parts of his soul that Snape had pruned away, it would mean more than an honest book. It could mean everything. Life, love, freedom….

It was up to him. Master Harry couldn’t do this alone. And Draco knew he hadn’t received a life sentence, either. His time was limited.

Moreover, he had to be careful of Liggy. She might have once preferred Draco's presence alone to that of Draco and Pansy both, but she certainly didn’t want Draco to become a real person to Harry. She wanted that position exclusively for herself. An unusual situation for a house-elf, but that truth was undeniable. The worst thing about it was that she had her own agenda, and it trumped the Master’s. What Potter wanted and needed were less important to her than what _she_ wanted for him. What she believed he needed.

No house-elf should have that sort of power over a wizard. No house-elf was even expected to _want_ it.

Draco retreated to his room and began to put his thoughts in order. It was made more complicated by the knowledge that he must write nothing down.

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By the time Master Harry returned to the house, just in time for Tuesday’s dinner, Draco had a plan. It was so simple it made him a little nervous, but he nonetheless thought it was likely to work. His employer was relentlessly _not_ introspective. He didn’t like to examine the uncomfortable aspects of his life and he was even less comfortable thinking carefully on anyone else’s life – especially that of his own slaves.

And so Draco was slightly warmer when his Master was pleasant, kind, warm or interested. And Draco was slightly colder, more reserved and withdrawn, when his employer was rough, or dismissive, unkind or sharp-tongued.

The first time Master Harry barked out something humiliating, Draco allowed himself to wince. The first time Master Harry reached out to touch Draco's arm at the dinner table, Draco rewarded him with a slow, shy smile.

He kept a third eye on Liggy at all times, and watched her confusion increase as Harry responded slowly to Draco's treatment.

The next time Liggy snapped at Draco in front of the Master, Harry told her to shut herself into a cupboard for ten minutes. Ears trembling, she obeyed. And while she was hidden away, even she too well-bred to cry audibly, his employer impulsively announced to Draco that the two of them were going to go away together. Tomorrow. To a fancy Muggle hotel in a seaside resort town. Just to enjoy the place.

Draco crowed himself to sleep that night in careful, nervous triumph, but the hotel overnight was a disaster. Master Harry had lost his confidence in how to treat Draco in front of strangers and they left quickly the next morning, hardly walking on the beach for more than twenty perfunctory minutes.

For a week Liggy looked smug and Draco wasn’t sure if his plan was working, if he should switch tactics. But… to what?

Draco’s heart sank the night he realized Master was dressing them up to visit yet another bondage and domination club, but the two of them practically hid in a corner and the moment Master Harry finished drinking his overpriced alcohol – apparently allowed in this club, Draco thought the Americans had much better sense on that issue – they vanished and spent the night in a cheap roadside motel.

Draco lay on his back, stripped nearly nude except for his ridiculous, tiny, buckled and strappy leather costume and the returned WHORE bracelet. Master fucked into Draco, rough and hard, slow and intense, gripping onto that damn leather cuff and biting Draco's neck. It was muffled, but Draco still heard Master Harry moan “whore!” as he came.

Even Draco knew that Master held onto Draco's skin with his teeth so he wouldn’t be able to accidentally look Draco in the eye while his cock was hard inside Draco's still-needy, still-eager arse. Even after all this time.

When they returned in the morning Liggy was cautiously deferential.

Less than a fortnight later they tried the spa, but the men there remembered Pansy and thoroughly misunderstood what Harry Potter wanted from them. It made Draco nervous and Master rude and angry.

The management were beside themselves trying to appease Mr Potter, and they did stay the whole three days and two nights, but even though they were together at all times – at least after that first “incident” with the masseuse thinking he was meant to enjoy Draco's mouth instead of rub Draco’s back – neither of them completely relaxed at all through the whole “holiday.”

Nonetheless, thinking of Pansy did bring Draco a revelation. He’d not suggested a single one of these trips, but Harry might nonetheless still resent this. The man clearly felt more comfortable at home than anywhere else, and he’d not appreciated the way Pansy had wheedled him into giving her all that clothing, the multiple spa treatments, the holidays and gifts. Nothing had made that more clear than the things his employer had murmured when Pansy was finally gone.

What if he thought Draco wanted these things? Willing to test this theory, Draco asked, shyly, deferentially, to go home.

Harry looked relieved and confused and blank somehow, all at the same time, but they went home before their last meal at the spa.

This time Liggy had missed their Master so much she was actually _kind_ to Draco. Her deferential obedience lasted nearly four days.

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The problem became stark in Draco's mind. He and the Master needed to be alone. At The Hideaway. But how the hell do you get rid of a house elf?

The solution came through the Floo quite unexpectedly the month after the spa disaster. They’d gone nowhere since – partly because his employer barely mentioned the possibility, but also because when he did, even slightly, Draco gently discouraged him with tiny frowns and shy glances at the floor.

Unfortunately, absent these messy “holiday” trips, the whole household was walking on eggshells. They had apparently managed to release some of the uncomfortable tension, even if they had not done so by being enjoyable. And so Master Harry still couldn’t write. And Draco had stopped reading. His whole life was meditation, breathing exercises, and listening for the slightest murmur of a request from his Master. They exercised together every day, showered together, fucked on hands and knees twice a day at most, and ate grouchy gourmet meals that Liggy made fancier and more resentful all the time.

“Harry dear!” a shrill maternal voice called from the Floo one afternoon. “Harry dear, are you home, Harry?”

Harry was up and rushing at the doorway of his office in a fleet moment, a look of confused hope on his face. On his way out the door he turned and nodded once at Draco, who followed his employer into the main room, but stayed carefully away from the mouth of the Floo.

“Harry dear!” Draco heard a warmer voice exclaim. “You look well! That elf is an excellent cook, isn’t she!”

It’s Molly Weasley, Draco would have bet his privileges on it, even if he hadn’t heard the voice in well over a decade.

“Harry dear” sat cross legged in front of his fireplace and grinned. Leaning against the doorjamb, Draco couldn’t see the fireplace at all, but he could see his Master. He looked more relaxed, more comfortable, than Draco had seen him appear in months.

“Molly,” Master Harry finally said, grinning.

Molly had wonderful news, and wasn’t Harry going to be just so excited? Ginny and her husband were finally expecting! Due early August! The midwife’s wand says ‘girl!”

Master Harry’s smile almost reached his eyes, but Draco could guess from the happy, unchanged tenor of Molly Weasley’s voice that she had no idea. Draco couldn’t really imagine how hearing that Ginny Weasley was about to become a mother would be making his employer feel, but it was clear that Molly Weasley was oblivious to Harry’s uncertainty.

Which was odd, because didn’t she know him very well? And Draco could feel the awkward discomfort radiating off his Master from four feet away.

Master was a bit of a mess after he closed the Floo, and Draco and Liggy were very gentle with him.

Nonetheless, it only took one question, one well-chosen facial reaction, and three days before Liggy was packed off to Memphis; special portkey in one hand, tiny holdall in the other. She was to be gone for a full six weeks, minimum. Master had explained that it depended on when the baby was born and how the birth went. Molly had explained that a first birth was such a life-changing experience, etc… well, Liggy would return only when Ginny and her husband could spare her.

Draco wondered what Liggy’s face had looked like when she’d been exiled off to Memphis, but he’d been quite careful to avoid her as much as possible ever since Mrs. Weasley’s Floo call. Still, he fought a small temptation to gloat.

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With Liggy gone, Draco was in charge in the kitchen. This turned out to mostly mean asking Harry to reheat meals Liggy had made in advance, though he did decide that they should eat more salad. Fresh food could be ordered and delivered via portkey, however, so the two of them seemed holed up together in a hideaway from the world for the foreseeable future. Would they even set a foot past the garden? Draco didn’t particularly care. His goal had been to be alone with his Master in the place the man was the most comfortable, the most relaxed.

It didn’t take long to alter their routine. Without Liggy to wake them, they began to stay up later and later, to sleep in until lunch and beyond. Draco's employer abandoned the idea of beginning his next novel at the beginning and instead spent hours creating, editing and perfecting a huge timeline on paper that he hung all around the walls of his office. He confessed that this was probably a waste of time, but it helped him feel productive and just might help him get over his writer’s block.

Draco only cared that his Master was confessing weakness, insecurity, challenges – and not resorting to violence even when at his most uncomfortable.

More important were the small changes in Master Harry’s behavior. He began to absently pet Draco's hair when Draco sat on the floor in front of Master Harry’s reading or telly chair. He began call Draco up to lay his head on Master Harry’s lap to be petted. Then he chose to do the reverse, and Draco watched an entire documentary on polar bears while caressing his Master’s hair and gently scratching his scalp. Once or twice he actually called Draco, “Draco.”

He began to lean against Draco when he wanted to show that he was tired. He started to smile shyly, and far more often. He started using more lube, and with admirable consistency.

The first big breakthrough, though, came after a week. Master Harry reached out to stroke Draco's loose, long hair, and Draco felt him pick it up in both hands, instead. “This is a knotted mess,” he murmured. “I guess Liggy was doing all the work, eh? Come on then,” he said, and stood up. He motioned for Draco to follow him. “Let’s take care of these tangles.”

Master sat behind Draco in the bath. He washed Draco's hair with tenderness, even remembering to magic all the suds away from Draco's eyes. He poured half a bottle of ludicrously expensive conditioner on Draco's head, and then painstakingly combed out all the tangles the Muggle way – sheepishly admitting he’d no idea what spells to use. He rinsed and rinsed Draco's hair out, patted at it with a towel, and then combed it through again. He loosely braided it so all that work wouldn’t soon go to waste.

Then he took Draco to bed and fucked him gently, tenderly, even tentatively for a while, until his instincts took over and he began thrusting hard and fast. Unusually, he insisted Draco lay on his back, and Draco didn’t know what to do with his face. Close his eyes to hide any feelings that might leak out? Open them and hope his Master liked what he saw?

Worried that it might be a mistake, Draco nonetheless raised a hand from the bedspread, and curled it around Master Harry’s side, over to his back.

Master Harry’s eyes flew open – Draco's eyes were open too, dammit, that hadn’t been thought through very well – but he looked tender, possessive, pleased. He paused for a moment, his cock deep into Draco's body, and looked down. And blushed. Then he moved to put his face in the hollow of Draco's neck, his thrusts more gentle again, their chests aligned, their sweat mingling. His employer wordlessly maneuvered Draco's arms around him, and Draco held on tightly as Potter fucked him softly, for a long time, Draco's erection trapped between them, finally spurting. Only then did his Master sigh and speed up and come.

Nine beautiful weeks they spent like this. Until Ginny Weasley Smitherson’s new baby girl Calyxx was a full five weeks old and her grandmother Weasley finally arrived in Memphis to adore her long-term. Draco was so grateful to that baby and her mother. The longer he and Potter lived together alone, without a manipulative, sulky, angry little elf between them, the closer and gentler and sweeter Draco and his employer became.

It was much as Draco had once dreamed. It was almost like they were lovers for real. Almost like they were boyfriends. It was almost as though Draco weren’t actually a slave.


	19. Final Chapter: Nineteen.

Chapter 19

First came the thank you letters, one from the baby’s father, then one from the mother, one from the Smitherson grandparents too. Molly and Arthur Weasley portkeyed in for the naming ceremony and stayed for the weekend, and when Mrs. Weasley got home again she Floo-called Master Harry and gushed about how grateful she was that “Harry dear” had so selflessly donated his house elf, how she couldn’t wait to go stay and help her only daughter herself, how sad she’d been when she realized that the baby was due a month before all her other grandchildren went back to school! All the obligations she wouldn’t be able to bow out of!

All the gratitude seemed to make the Master both proud and uncomfortable. But he always left the letters laying where Draco would be able to read them.

In the end Draco's employer actually contrived to have Liggy stay a full week after Hogwarts started and Molly Weasley arrived at her daughter’s house for the long haul; and Draco wondered if Master Harry was even self-aware enough to understand why he might want to do that.

It couldn’t last, of course. In early September Liggy came home to The Hideaway, and she was _seething_. Even the Master could tell. He seemed somewhat taken aback, and though he never discussed Liggy with Draco, he did keep Draco near and praise Liggy’s cleaning and cooking far more than he usually thought to.

This might have been adequate, if Liggy had returned to “normal” within a few days. But she didn’t. Days turned into a week. She oversalted the food. She woke Draco so loudly every morning that Master usually woke as well. She loudly cleaned the Master’s office while the Master was trying to write.

A week turned into two. She began muttering pointed comments that Draco thought the Master could surely hear. Comments about witches. Comments about babies. Comments about what a house-elf was for and how long a sex slave should be kept before he was ‘used all up.’

A fortnight turned into a month. Master Harry, being the man he had atrophied into, eventually began to blame Draco for Liggy’s misbehavior. He began to slowly clam up. He began to turn cold and angry: at his elf _and_ at his sex slave. Draco tried his tricks of withdrawing and wincing and otherwise silently offering disapproval – but whereas before it had made his employer want to do things that Draco warmed to, now it made the man angry and increasingly violent.

Without a backup plan, Draco retreated once again into the only things he had left: meditation and breathing exercises. When permitted, he would reread favourite passages from the Buddhism books still shelved in his room.

Liggy interrupted him: his reading, his meditation, every chance she got.

But the deeper Draco withdrew into a depressed “meditation,” the angrier and more violent Harry became. Like hitting an infant to make it stop crying, the cycle grew less beneficial and more vicious every week, until the day Potter began shouting at Draco, whom he’d found sitting lotus style in a book shelf corner, “I don’t know what you want from me! What’s changed? Why are you so cold? Where have you gone?”

Miserable, Draco just looked at Harry with what he felt sure were enormous, sad eyes. He remained silent. What could he say that wouldn’t get his hair pulled? His face smacked?

Draco found himself called upon for less and less sex. He still woke his Master with a blow job every morning, except now it rarely ended with his employer ejaculating in his mouth. Sometimes Potter would sigh and roll Draco onto his belly so Potter could climb on and fuck him. Sometimes he would have Draco spoon him from behind and masturbate him to orgasm. Sometimes – increasingly often – Master would just go soft in Draco's mouth and he would shrug and head for the shower. Alone.

The tension in the house increased nearly every day, and his employer wasn’t writing. Helplessly, Draco practiced his breathing exercises and tried to release his fears. It would be what it would be. He had no power over the future.

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Finally came the day when Harry abruptly pushed Draco off his cock before he finished in his slave’s throat. Even before he could go soft.

“I can’t do this anymore. Draco.” Harry curled up, at the foot of the bed. His face was hidden.

“Master?”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me that anymore.”

Draco turned open eyes to his Master in question. How was he to respond to that? He waited.

“Call me…” Potter swallowed and grabbed blindly for Draco's hand. When he found it, he pulled at Draco until he could bury his face in Draco's chest. Finally, he looked into Draco's eyes. Master’s eyes were wet and shining. He looked ripped, torn wide open. “Call me… call me Harry.”

Draco swallowed. He hadn’t even pronounced that word, that name, out loud, in more years than he could calculate.

“I,” he began. Then he swallowed. “I… can try?”

“No!” Master shouted, miserable. Suddenly sitting up, he put his feet on the floor and twisted his back to face Draco, who sat up slowly. “No! You don’t just try!” He waved his hands at Draco, looking helpless, of all things. Looking confused. “It’s my name!” he wailed. “It’s just my name! You can say it. Please, Draco. Please… say my name?” He reached for both of Draco's hands, took them in his own. His hands burned like live coals.

Draco cleared his throat and tried to obey, feeling something wriggle uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. “Ha… er…” was all Draco managed before he trailed off in confusion. What if this was a trap? Where was Liggy, anyway? “Sir?” he said, then winced, remembering that he was already disobeying a brand-new, confusing, but nonetheless very direct order. The Master stood up and – scared now – Draco felt himself retreat slightly, pull down into himself, awaiting the inevitable blow.

Instead, however, the Master looked at his own hands, scowling. He punched the bedpost and the bed rattled. Draco wrapped his arms around his own torso and stared at his knees in fear and confusion. He’d begun a breathing exercise before he was even aware of having done so.

The Master dressed in yesterday’s clothes and _Apparated_ away.

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Master Harry was gone that whole day. Draco stayed in his own room until his hunger could no longer be contained, and although Liggy didn’t hurt him while he put together a small plate of salad, a slice of wholemeal bread, and a large bowl of leftover soup, she did seem to long for the power to kill him with just the strength of her hatred. Draco tucked his chin down to avoid her glare while he ate, then washed his plates the Muggle way.

Thumping heartbeats, creaking floorboards, and crackling magic aside, the house was silent: bereft of all speech for the many hours that the Master was away. After his meal Draco sat cross-legged on his bed and retreated into meditation. His clock indicated he’d been lost in the blankness of his own mind for around three hours when his Master opened the door with his knock.

“Draco,” he said softly.

Draco opened his eyes and gazed. His employer looked calmer than he had in longer than Draco could calculate. Years? He stood taller, though he looked tired. As though he’d spent all those hours slowly lifting the weight off his own shoulders.

“Liggy.” Master Harry said quietly, and Liggy was already there.

“I’ve made arrangements,” the Master said, looking not at Liggy but at Draco. “You’re to leave us, Liggy. You’re to go back to Miss Ginny and her new family. Ginny tells me that with your help she could have a lot more children, maybe even leave the Auror force. Now that Calyxx is getting bigger her maternity leave is running out, and she realizes she’s not ready to hand her baby over to a stranger. So you’ll be moving there to help.”

Liggy’s ears drooped nearly off her head, and her fingers trembled. “For… how manys week, Master sir?”

Now Draco's employer turned toward her, a look of surprise managing to crack the weary resignation on his face. “Was I not clear then? Forever, Liggy. You’re the Smitherson’s house elf now. I have your portkey in my pocket. They are expecting you.”

Liggy’s ears shot up. She stepped back with one foot. Her mouth opened and then she reached toward her suddenly former Master. Even as deeply as Draco hated her, he couldn’t help but wince in empathy at her look of devastation.

Then Liggy began to yell. “No! Not this! You is hero! Heard about you all my life, I haves! Hero! Savior of house elves! You is best man on earth, and _you need wife and childrens_! You needs free, beautiful woman! Womans worthy your legacy and so can bear your many worthy childrens!” Liggy stamped a foot and grabbed her ears and wailed. “Untils you find worthy wife I should be _all you need_! You does not need foul whore! They keep you from finding worthy woman wife! All you need to is fuck tight warm hole, drain testicles to concentrate on works and books! I can doos that, why must you have the many whores in your bed? You should be use me to fuck and you must find the wife!”

Draco was shocked to see tears falling now from Liggy’s eyes. He’d not been aware house elves were physiologically capable of crying.

“Then I can be nanny and nursemaid and take cares all of you! Is my _purpose_! Mistress Josephine say so! You should has big family! Have biggest! I could take care triplets, I could cares eight children! Ten children! I wasting mys times while you is wasting yours on the whores! Mistress Josephine give me to you so yous could marry faster, haves more babies! Why haven’t you found wife? Wife and many strong children is hero’s destiny!”

Master Harry stood silently, listening to the elf rant out nearly two decades of rage and frustration. Draco turned to looked at his face. He looked sad. Tired. Embarrassed. When Liggy finally stopped screaming, he took a small, shiny object from his pocket and handed it to Liggy without a word, and she took it. As she lifted it to her eyes to see what it might be, the portkey activated and she vanished from the room in a tiny whirl of colour.

Just as there are sounds that dogs can hear but Muggles cannot, there are sounds that House Elves can hear but Wizards cannot. The sound that Harry and Draco did not hear as the portkey began to activate, was the sound of Liggy's heart fragmenting.

Master Harry sighed. Then he walked to the window and tapped it with his wand. The wards surrounding The Hideaway were suddenly visible, and Draco's employer delicately plucked a pale brown filament from the mass. It withered as it fell away from the rest of the wards, and dissipated into the carpet without a sound.

“She won’t be able to return now,” Master Harry sighed. He sat gingerly at the edge of Draco's bed. “She’s not the only one I made plans for today, Draco. But the option I found for you is just that: an option. You don’t have to accept.” He sighed and looked out the window.

“I’ve been slowly coming to terms with something for a while. I don’t want to be your Master. I want to be…” he swallowed.

Draco found himself actually _eager_ to hear what the Mast… what the man had to say. He watched and waited as Harry Potter stared at his hands, at Draco's duvet cover, at the window. He found himself wishing for permission to cover one of the other man’s hands with his own. He wondered if he should try a breathing exercise, but found he couldn’t bear the idea of missing anything Harry Potter might say or do. Striving for a new patience, he worked to wait out the silence.

Finally Harry Potter looked Draco in the eye. “What I want to be, to you,” he began again, “is your boyfriend.”

Draco swallowed. His brain felt like an empty page. He stayed silent.

“I’ve been trying for ages now to be your boyfriend while you’re compelled to live here. While you’re also my state-sanctioned, court-appointed sex slave.”

They stared past each other carefully. Draco's mind whirled into abstract nonsense. No thoughts emerged intact.

“I think, honestly, I’ve been trying to do that for a few years, since some point after Pansy left. But I can’t. I have to be honest with you. Hell, I have to be honest with _myself_. I saw that with the book first, that honesty was a prerequisite. That nothing would work without honesty as a baseline. But it’s true for this – for us I mean – just as much. The truth, whether I like it or not, is that you aren’t my boyfriend if you can’t leave, can’t decide, can’t choose.”

Potter stood and walked to the window. “I’m a terrible boyfriend, too,” he said, and gave a thin, short laugh. “I’ve got enough baggage to fill an aeroplane; from the war, from Dumbledore, from Snape… hell, from damn near killing you in that bathroom when we were sixteen. Six-fucking-teen!” He put his hands on either side of the window and stared out, but Draco suspected he couldn’t see a thing outside his own thoughts.

“I have so much work to do on myself. What a mess I am! Did you know,” he turned slightly back, so Draco could see most of his face, “when I first heard about places like Tilford’s I was bothered by it? By prostitution as punishment?” He shook his head and looked out the window again. “But I let some friends convince me I was wrong about that, that the Wizarding world knew better than the Muggles. Hermione tried to tell me I’d been right the first time, but I decided to think with my dick. And now look at me, all these years later. 

“Liggy is partially right, you now. At least partially right. I desperately wanted a wife and family once. To be a father. You know?” he turned just long enough to catch Draco's eye, so Draco nodded slightly. Potter turned back to the window. “I think the only reason I haven’t cracked completely is that writing all those books was a kind of… of therapy. But I can’t be your boyfriend like this, and I can’t write my next book yet, either. Not without some serious… introspection, for the least of it. And maybe some actual _therapy_ , too.”

Draco wondered what therapy was as he watched Potter shake his last thought off in discomfort. It sounded unpleasant, but he wondered if some unpleasant soul-searching wasn’t what Potter really needed right now. He wondered what _he_ needed, too, now that the idea came up. A lot, probably, but thinking for himself, about himself, was a long disused habit. 

“So,” Potter continued, now turning around, “I’ve arranged for you to work in a Wizarding archive for Muggle and Wizard/Muggle works. If you are willing, the archive job can now be your state-sanctioned, court-appointed work, to complete your sentence. It is very quiet there, and you’ll have very little contact with anyone other than the archivist/librarian, who is Muggle-born and Muggle-trained.”

Then Potter stepped away from the window, his eyes hooded and slightly… mischievous? “She’s also ninety years old, and married for nearly sixty years already. I’m quite sure she will have no designs on your virtue. The work would be filing, classifying. It comes with room and board but no other pay.”

Potter sighed and finally returned to the end of the bed. Standing in front of Draco, he looked down into his face, and Draco was surprised to see insecurity paining the man’s eyes.

“And I would request your permission, humbly, to date you. In your off hours. The librarian tells me she won’t need you more than about fifty or sixty hours a week, and then only when she is terribly busy. She says most of the time she’s only there forty hours a week. You have three years and about eight months left, of your sentence. You, er… you wouldn’t be permitted to switch a third time, so if you go there, you’ll have to stay. Perhaps someday you’ll be willing to move back in here. But it would be a mutual decision.” He moved to sit at the edge of Draco's bed, then seemed to change his mind. He stood again at the foot and clasped his hands together.

“I want us to be lovers, Draco. Not a hero and his whore.”

Draco stared at Potter, his heart pounding unexpectedly, his mind still full of cotton wool and clouds. He knew he needed to say something, but thoughts were only just starting to form. Could this broken man ever recover from his past? _Their_ past? Could Draco himself recover from it? And could he even find the power to say ‘no’ to this man? 

_Should_ he say no to this... offer? How would he even know if he should? Spending years actively working at not making decisions for himself was very bad training for making a big decision for himself. 

All he knew any more was, he loved this man and didn’t want to disappoint him. 

Or leave his side, but since when did Draco get what he wanted?

And if Potter was right, then by leaving the house, Draco would be entering a... the… relationship. Surely that was what he wanted? More than anything?

Was Potter right? About anything? How would Draco know, if he refused?

Finally, he nodded once. “I,” he began, then cleared his throat. “I’d be willing to move to the archive,” he finally managed.

Harry smiled at him, a heartbreaking smile full of the saddest hope Draco had ever seen. “And then?” he asked. “The rest? May I take you out after you get settled? A date, I mean? For a… a walk, maybe?”

Draco nodded slowly, still wrapping his mind around everything. He realized that if he and Harry were _boyfriends_ , Harry would probably do more than walk with him. He might do things like kiss Draco. Hold him. 

Smile at him. 

Draco realized, if he and Harry were boyfriends, he could maybe even _ask_ Harry to do things like that.

“I think,” Potter finally said, smiling sadly -- not yet reaching for Draco's hands – “that’s all I can ask.”

Heart pounding, Draco stood and reached for Potter’s hands himself. “But,” he choked out, “you can ask it.”

Fin


End file.
